LffiRARY 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

SANTA  BARBARA 


PRESENTED  BY 

Mr.    H.    H.    KM  iani 


UCSB   LIBKAHY 


^ 


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H.    DE    BALZAC 


THE   COMEDIE    HUMAINE 


t^jo^^tei  t^M't^^M/a/^e^.ytue^  e>Y^<«<^,  e>^'«^ 


/ 


BALZAC'S    BIRTHPLACE,    RUE    ROYALE,    TOURS. 


H.    DE     BALZAC 


BEATRIX 

AND  The  purse 

(La  Bourse.) 


TRANSLATED    BY 


JAMES    WARING 


WITH   A    PREFACE  BY 


GEORGE    SAINTSBURY 


^ 


PHILADELPHIA 

The  Gebbie  Publishing  Co.,  Ltd. 

1898 


CONTENTS 


PAGB 

PREFACE ix 

BEATRIX 

I.   DRAMATIS   PERSONiE 2 

n.  THE  DRAMA I3I 

III.   RETROSPECTIVE  ADULTERY 24 1 

THE  PURSE 357 


LIST  OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 


BALZAC'S  BIRTHPLACE,   RUE  ROYALE,  TOURS  .  .  Frontispiece 

Drawn  by  H.  Crickmart, 

PAGB 

AT  THE  UNEXPECTED  SIGHT    CALYSTE  AND    FfeLICITi  SAT  SILENT 

FOR  A  MINUTE lOI 


"SPARE  THE   HORSES,  MY   BOY THEY  HAVE  TWELVE   LEAGUES 

BEFORE   THEM" I4I 

"  OPEN    YOUR   EYES,  FORGIVE   ME !  "  SAID    CALYSTE.     "  OR   WE   DIE 

TOGETHER  " 204 

"  LEAVE  ME,   DAUGHTER,"   SHE   SAID,   GOING  TO  HER  PRIE-DIEU  .      296 
Drawn  by  W.  Boucher. 


PREFACE. 

"Beatrix"  was  built  up  in  the  odd  fashion  in  which 
Balzac  sometimes  did  build  up  his  novels,  and  which  may  be 
thought  to  account  for  an  occasional  lack  of  unity  and  grasp 
in  them.  The  original  book,  written  in  1838,  and  published 
with  the  rather  flowery  dedication  **  to  Sarah  "  at  the  end  of 
that  year,  stopped  at  the  marriage  of  Calyste  and  Sabine. 
The  last  part,  separately  entitled  "Un  Adultere  Retrospectif," 
was  not  added  till  six  years  later.  It  cannot  be  said  to  be 
either  very  shocking  or  very  unnatural  that  the  young  husband 
should  exemplify  the  truth  of  that  uncomfortable  proverb,  Quia 
bu  boira ;  and  it  is  perhaps  rather  more  surprising  that  Balzac 
should  have  allowed  him  to  be  "  refished  "  (as  the  French  say) 
in  a  finally  satisfactory  condition  by  his  lawful  spouse. 

Still,  I  do  not  think  the  addition  can  be  considered  on  the 
whole  an  improvement  to  the  book,  of  which  it  is  at  the  best 
rather  an  appendix  than  an  integral  part.  The  conception  of 
Beatrix  herself  seems  to  have  changed  somewhat,  and  that  not 
as  the  conception  of  her  immortal  namesake  in  "Esmond" 
and  "The  Virginians  "  changes,  merely  to  suit  the  irreparable 
outrage  of  years.  The  end  has  unsavory  details,  which  have 
not,  as  the  repetition  of  them  in  more  tragic  form  a  little  later 
in  "La  Cousine  Bette"  has,  the  justification  of  a  really  tragic 
retribution  ;  and  a  man  must  have  a  great  deal  of  disinterested 
good-nature  about  him  to  feel  any  satisfaction,  or  indeed  to 
take  much  interest,  in  the  restoration  of  the  domestic  happi- 
ness of  two  such  persons  as  M.  and  Madame  de  Rochefide. 
Calyste  du  Guenic,  whose  character  was  earlier  rather  exag- 
gerated, is  now  almost  a  caricature,  and  to  me  at  least  the 
thing  is  not  much  excused  by  the  fact  that  it  gives  Balzac  an 
opportunity  of  introducing  his  pattern  gentleman-scoundrel, 


t  PREFACE. 

Maxime  de  Trailles,  and  his  pet  Bohemian,  La  Palftrine. 
The  many-named  Italian  here  indeed  plays  a  comparatively 
benevolent  part,  as  does  Trailles ;  but  they  are  both  as  great 
**  raffs  "  and  "  tigers  "  as  ever. 

The  first  and  larger  part  of  the  book,  on  the  other  hand — 
the  book  proper,  as  we  may  call  it — is  a  remarkable,  a  well- 
designed,  and  a  very  interesting  study.  It  is  not  so  much  of 
an  additional  attraction  to  me,  as  it  perhaps  is  to  most  people, 
that  contemporaries,  without  much  contradiction,  or  in  all 
cases  improbability,  chose  to  regard  the  parts  and  personages 
of  Felicite  des  Touches,  Beatrix  de  Rochefide,  Claud  Vignon, 
and  the  musician  Conti,  as  designed,  and  pretty  closely  de- 
signed, after  George  Sand,  Madame  d'Agoult  (known  as 
"  Daniel  Stern  "),  Gustave  Planche,  the  critic,  and  Liszt. 
As  to  the  first  pair,  there  can,  of  course,  be  no  doubt ;  for 
Balzac,  by  representing  "Camille  Maupin  "  as  George  Sand's 
rival,  and  by  introducing  divers  ingenious  and  legitimate 
adaptations  of  the  famous  she-novelist's  career,  both  invites 
and,  in  a  way,  authorizes  the  attribution.  There  is  nothing 
offensive  in  it ;  indeed,  Felicity  is  one  of  the  most  effective 
and  sympathetic  of  his  female  characters,  and  would  always 
have  been  incapable  of  the  rather  heartless  action  by  which 
the  actual  George  Sand  amused  herself  intellectually  and  senti- 
mentally with  lover  after  lover,  and  then  threw  them  away. 
Unless  the  accounts  of  Planche  that  we  have  are  very  unfair — 
and  they  possibly  are,  for  he  was  a  critic,  and  was  particularly 
obnoxious  to  the  extreme  Romantic  school,  which  was  perhaps 
why  Balzac  liked  him — Claud  Vignon  is  a  still  more  flattered 
portrait,  though  Balzac's  low,  if  not  quite  impartial,  opinion 
of  critics  in  general  comes  out  in  it.  Conti  may  be  fair 
enough  for  Liszt ;  and  if  Beatrix  is  certainly  a  libel  on  poor 
Madame  d'Agoult,  it  must  be  remembered  that  this  later 
Madame  de  Stael  was  generally  misrepresented  in  her  lifetime, 
though  since  her  death  she  has  had  more  justice. 

The  **  key  "-interest  of  books,  however,  is  always  a  minor, 


PREFACE.  zi 

and  sometimes  a  purely  illegitimate  one.  It  ought  to  be  sufl&- 
cient  for  us  that  the  interest  of  the  quartette,  even  if  there  had 
been  no  such  persons  as  George  Sand,  Daniel  Stern,  Planche, 
and  Liszt  in  the  world,  would  be  very  great,  and  that  it  is  well 
composed  with  and  maintained  by  the  accessory  and  auxiliary 
facts  and  characters.  The  picture  of  the  Guenic  household 
(which,  after  Balzac's  usual  fashion,  throws  us  back  to  "Les 
Chouans,"  while  Beatrix  as  a  Casteran,  and  thus  a  connection 
of  the  luckless  Mile,  de  Verneuil,  is  also  connected  with  that 
book)  may  seem  to  some  to  be  a  little  too  fully  painted ;  it 
does  not  seem  so  to  me.  Whether,  as  hinted  above,  the  char- 
acter of  Calyste  has  its  childishness  exaggerated  or  not,  I  must 
leave  to  readers  to  decide  for  themselves.  His  casting  of 
Beatrix  into  the  sea,  beside  being  illegal,  may  seem  to  some 
extravagant ;  but  it  must  be  remembered  that  Balzac  was 
originally  writing  when  the  heyday  of  the  Romantic  move- 
ment was  by  no  means  over,  and  when  melodrama  was  still 
pretty  fully  in  fashion.  It  is  difficult,  too,  to  see  what  better 
contrast  and  uniting  scheme  for  the  contrasted  worldlinesses 
of  the  four  chief  characters  could  have  been  devised ;  while 
the  childishness  itself  is  not  inconceivable  or  unnatural  in  a 
boy  brought  up  in  a  sort  of  household  of  romance  by  a  heroic 
father  and  a  doting  mother,  both  utterly  unworldly,  his  head 
being  further  fired  by  participation  in  actual  civil  war  on  be- 
half of  an  injured  princess,  and  his  heart  exposed  without 
preparation  to  such  different  influences  as  those  of  Mile,  des 
Touches  and  of  Beatrix. 

The  contrast  of  the  two  ladies  is  also  fine ;  indeed,  Beatrix 
seems  to  me,  though  by  no  means  Balzac's  most  perfect  work, 
to  be  an  attempt  in  a  higher  style  of  novel  writing  than  any 
other  heroine  of  his.  It  is  impossible  not  to  suspect  in  F6- 
licite,  good,  clever,  and  so  forth  as  she  is,  a  covert  satire  on 
the  variety  of  womankind  which  had  begun  to  be  fashionable. 
The  satire  on  the  unamiable  side  of  mere  womanliness  which 
the  sketch  of  Beatrix  contains  is,  of  course,  open  and  un- 


xH  PREFACE. 

deniable.  I  think  that  Thackeray  has  far  excelled  it,  but  I 
am  not  certain  that  he  was  not  indebted  to  it  as  a  pattern. 
The  fault  of  the  French  Beatrix  has  been  expressed  by  her 
creator  on  nearly  the  last  page  of  the  book.  A  woman  sans 
cosur  ni  tite  may  do  a  great  deal  of  mischief;  but  she  cannot 
quite  play  the  part  attributed  to  Madame  de  Rochefide. 

The  two  first  parts  of  f  Beatrix"  (in  which  Madame  de 
Rochefide  was  at  first  called  Roche^</(f)  appeared  in  the 
"Si^cle"  during  April  and  May,  1839,  with  the  alternative 
title  **ou  les  Amours  Forces,"  and  they  were  published  in 
book  form  by  Souverain  in  the  same  year.  They  were  then 
divided  briefly:  the  first  part,  which  was  called  "  Moeurs 
D' Autrefois"  in  the  "Sidcle,"  and  "Une  Famille  Patri- 
arcale"  in  the  book,  had  eight  headed  chapters;  the  second 
("MoeursD'Aujourdhui"  in  the  first,  "Une  Femme  Celebre" 
in  the  second)  eleven;  and  a  third  division,  "  Les  Rivalites," 
eight.  As  a  "Sc6ne  de  la  Vie  Priv^e,"  which  it  became  in 
1842,  it  had  no  chapters;  it  was  little  altered  otherwise;  and 
the  present  completion  was  anticipated,  though  not  given,  in 
a  final  paragraph.  It  also  had  the  simple  title  of  "Beatrix." 
The  completion  itself  did  not  appear  till  the  midwinter  (De- 
cember-January) of  1844-45.  It  was  first  called  "Les  Petits 
Manages  d'une  Femme  Vertueuse  "  in  the  "Messager,"  and 
when,  shortly  afterward,  it  was  published  by  Chlendowski  as 
a  book,  "La  Lune  de  Miel."  In  these  forms  it  had  fifty-nine 
headed  chapters.  In  the  same  year,  however,  it  became,  with 
its  forerunners,  part  of  the  Comedie,  and  the  chapters  were 
swept  away  throughout. 

"The  Purse  "  ("La  Bourse  "),  though  agreeable,  is  a  little 
slight.  It  was  early  written,  apparently  for  the  second  edi- 
tion of  the  "Scenes  de  la  Vie  Privee,"  in  which  it  appeared. 
In  1835  it  was  moved  over  to  the  "Scenes  de  la  Vie  Paris- 
ienne,"  between  which  and  the  Vie  Privee  there  is  in  fact  a 
good  deal  of  cross  and  arbitrary  division.  But  when  the  full 
Com6die  took  shape  it  moved  back  again.  G.  S. 


BEATRIX. 

To  Sarah. 

In  clear  weather,  on  the  Mediterranean  shore, 
where  formerly  your  name  held  elegant  sway,  the 
waves  sometimes  allow  us  to  perceive  beneath  the  mist 
of  waters  a  sea-flower,  one  of  Nature' s  masterpieces ; 
the  lacework  of  its  tissue,  tinged  with  purple,  russet, 
rose,  violet,  or  gold,  the  crispness  of  that  living  fili- 
gree, the  velvet  texture,  all  vanish  as  soon  as  curiosity 
draws  it  forth  and  spreads  it  on  the  strand. 

Thus  would  the  glare  of  publicity  offend  your  tender 
modesty ;  so,  in  dedicating  this  work  to  you,  I  must 
reserve  a  name  which  would,  indeed,  be  its  pride. 
But,  under  the  shelter  of  this  half  concealment,  your 
superb  hands  may  bless  it,  your  noble  brow  may  bend 
and  dream  over  it,  your  eyes,  full  of  motherly  love, 
may  smile  upon  it,  since  you  are  here  at  once  present 
and  veiled.  Like  that  gem  of  the  ocean-garden,  you 
will  dwell  on  the  fine,  white,  level  sand  where  your 
beautiful  life  expands,  hidden  by  a  wave  that  is  trans- 
parent only  to  certain  friendly  and  reticent  eyes. 

I  would  gladly  have  laid  at  your  feet  a  work  in 
harmony  with  your  perfections  ;  but  as  that  was  im- 
possible, I  knew,  for  my  consolation,  that  I  was  grat- 
ify^f^g  one  of  your  instincts  by  offering  you  something  to 
protect. 

De  Balzac. 


a) 


PART  I. 

DRAMATIS   PERSONS. 

France,  and  more  especially  Brittany,  still  has  some  few 
towns  that  stand  entirely  outside  the  social  movement  which 
gives  a  character  to  the  nineteenth  century.  For  lack  of  rapid 
and  constant  communications  with  Paris,  connected  only  by 
an  ill-made  road  with  the  prefecture  or  chief  town  to  which 
they  belong,  these  places  hear  and  see  modern  civilization 
pass  by  like  a  spectacle ;  they  are  amazed,  but  they  do  not 
applaud  ;  and  whether  they  fear  it  or  make  light  of  it,  they 
remain  faithful  to  the  antiquated  manners  of  which  they  pre- 
serve the  stamp.  Any  one  who  should  travel  as  a  moral 
archaeologist,  and  study  men  instead  of  stones,  might  find  a 
picture  of  the  age  of  Louis  XV.  in  some  village  of  Provence, 
that  of  the  time  of  Louis  XIV.  in  the  depths  of  Poitou,  that 
of  yet  remoter  ages  in  the  heart  of  Brittany. 

Most  of  these  places  have  fallen  from  some  splendor  of 
which  history  has  kept  no  record,  busied  as  it  is  with  facts  and 
dates  rather  than  manners,  but  of  which  the  memory  still  sur- 
vives in  tradition  ;  as  in  Brittany,  where  the  character  of  the 
people  allows  no  forgetfulness  of  anything  that  concerns  the 
home  country.  Many  of  these  towns  have  been  the  capital 
of  some  little  feudal  territory — a  county  or  a  duchy  conquered 
by  the  Crown,  or  broken  up  by  inheritors  in  default  of  a  direct 
male  line.  Then,  deprived  of  their  activity,  these  heads  be- 
came arms ;  the  arms,  bereft  of  nutrition,  have  dried  up  and 
merely  vegetate  ;  and  within  these  thirty  years  these  images 
of  remote  times  are  beginning  to  die  out  and  grow  very  rare. 

Modern  industry,  toiling  for  the  masses,  goes  on  destroying 

the  creations  of  ancient  art,  for  its  outcome  was  as  personal  to 

the  purchaser  as  to  the  maker.     We  have  products  nowadays ; 

we   no   longer  have  works.      Buildings  play  a  large  part  in 

(2) 


BEATRIX.  % 

the  phenomena  of  retrospection  ;  but  to  industry  buildings 
are  stone-quarries  or  saltpetre  mines,  or  warehouses  for  cotton. 
A  few  years  more  and  these  primitive  towns  will  be  trans- 
formed, known  no  more  except  in  this  literary  iconography. 

One  of  the  towns  where  the  physiognomy  of  the  feudal  ages 
is  still  most  plainly  visible  is  Guerande,  The  name  alone  will 
revive  a  thousand  memories  in  the  mind  of  painters,  artists, 
and  thinkers,  who  may  have  been  to  the  coast  and  have  seen 
this  noble  gem  of  feudality  proudly  perched  where  it  com- 
mands the  sand-hills  and  the  strand  at  low  tide,  the  top 
corner,  as  it  were,  of  a  triangle  at  whose  other  points  stand 
two  not  less  curious  relics — le  Croisic  and  le  Bourg  de  Batz. 
Beside  Guerande  there  are  but  two  places — Vitre,  in  the  very 
centre  of  Brittany,  and  Avignon,  in  the  south — which  preserve 
their  mediaeval  aspect  and  features  in  the  midst  of  our  century. 
Guerande  is  to  this  day  inclosed  by  mighty  walls,  its  wide 
moats  are  full  of  water,  its  battlements  are  unbroken,  its 
loopholes  are  not  filled  up  with  shrub,  the  ivy  has  thrown  no 
mantle  over  its  round  and  square  towers.  It  has  three  gates, 
where  the  rings  may  still  be  seen  for  suspending  the  port- 
cullis ;  it  is  entered  over  drawbridges  of  timber  shod  with 
iron,  which  could  be  raised,  though  they  are  raised  no  longer. 
The  municipality  was  blamed  in  1820  for  planting  poplars  by 
the  side  of  the  moat  to  shade  the  walk  ;  it  replied  that  on  the 
land  side,  by  the  sand-hills,  for  above  a  hundred  years,  the 
fine  long  esplanade  by  the  walls,  which  look  as  if  they  had 
been  built  yesterday,  had  been  made  into  a  mall  overshadowed 
by  elms,  where  the  inhabitants  took  their  pleasure. 

The  houses  have  known  no  changes  ;  they  are  neither  more 
nor  less  in  number.  Not  one  of  them  has  felt  on  its  face  the 
hammer  of  the  builder  or  the  brush  of  the  whitewasher,  nor 
trembled  under  the  weight  of  an  added  story.  They  all  re- 
tain their  primitive  character.  Some  are  raised  on  wooden 
columns  forming  "rows,"  under  which  there  is  a  footway, 
floored  with  planks  that  yield  but  do  not  break.     The  store- 


4  BEATRIX. 

dwellings  are  small  and  low,  and  faced  with  slate  shingles. 
Woodwork,  now  decayed,  has  been  largely  used  for  carved 
window-frames ;  and  the  beams,  prolonged  beyond  the  pillars, 
project  in  grotesque  heads,  or  at  the  angles,  in  the  form  of 
fantastic  creatures,  vivified  by  the  great  idea  of  art,  which  at 
that  time  lent  life  to  dead  matter.  These  ancient  things,  defy- 
ing the  touch  of  time,  offer  to  painters  the  brown  tones  and 
obliterated  lines  that  they  delight  in. 

The  streets  are  what  they  were  a  hundred  years  ago.  Only, 
as  the  population  is  thinner  now,  as  the  social  stir  is  less 
active,  a  traveler  curious  to  wander  through  this  town,  as  fine 
as  a  perfect  suit  of  antique  armor,  may  find  his  way,  not  un- 
touched by  melancholy,  down  an  almost  deserted  street,  where 
the  stone  window-frames  are  choked  with  concrete  to  avoid 
the  tax.  This  street  ends  at  a  postern-gate  built  up  with  a 
stone-wall,  and  crowned  by  a  clump  of  saplings  planted  there 
by  the  hand  of  Breton  Nature — France  can  hardly  show  a 
more  luxuriant  and  all-pervading  vegetation.  If  he  is  a  poet 
or  a  painter,  our  wanderer  will  sit  down,  absorbed  in  the 
enjoyment  of  the  perfect  silence  that  reigns  under  the  still 
sharp-cut  vaulting  of  this  side-gate,  whither  no  sound  comes 
from  the  peaceful  town,  whence  the  rich  country  may  be  seen 
in  all  its  beauty  through  loopholes,  once  held  by  archers  and 
cross-bowmen,  which  seem  placed  like  the  little  windows 
arranged  to  frame  a  view  from  a  summer-house. 

It  is  impossible  to  go  through  the  town  without  being  re- 
minded at  every  step  of  the  manners  and  customs  of  long  past 
times  ;  every  stone  speaks  of  them  ;  traditions  of  the  Middle 
Ages  survive  there  as  superstitions.  If  by  chance  a  gendarme 
passes  in  his  laced  hat,  his  presence  is  an  anachronism  against 
which  the  mind  protests  ;  but  nothing  is  rarer  than  to  meet  a 
being  or  a  thing  of  the  present.  There  is  little  to  be  seen 
even  of  the  dress  of  the  day ;  so  much  of  it  as  the  natives 
have  accepted  has  become  to  some  extent  appropriate  to  their 
unchanging  habits  and  hereditary  physiognomy.    The  market- 


BEATRIX.  6 

place  is  filled  with  Breton  costumes,  which  artists  come  here 
to  study,  and  which  are  amazingly  varied.  The  whiteness  of 
the  linen  clothes  worn  by  the  paludiers,  the  salt-workers  who 
collect  salt  from  the  pans  in  the  marshes,  contrasts  effectively 
with  the  blues  and  browns  worn  by  the  inland  peasants,  and 
the  primitive  jewelry  piously  preserved  by  the  women.  These 
two  classes  and  the  jacketed  seamen,  with  their  round,  var- 
nished leather  hats,  are  as  distinct  as  the  castes  in  India,  and 
they  still  recognize  the  distinctions  that  separate  the  towns- 
folk, the  clergy,  and  the  nobility.  Here  every  landmark  still 
exists ;  the  revolutionary  plane  found  the  divisions  too  rugged 
and  too  hard  to  work  over ;  it  would  have  been  notched  if 
not  broken.  Here  the  immutability  which  nature  has  given 
to  zoological  species  is  to  be  seen  in  men.  In  short,  even 
since  the  revolution  of  1830,  Guerande  is  still  a  place  unique, 
essentially  Breton,  fervently  Catholic,  silent,  meditative,  where 
new  ideas  can  scarcely  penetrate. 

Its  geographical  position  accounts  for  this  singularity. 
This  pretty  town  overlooks  the  salt  marshes ;  its  salt  is  indeed 
known  throughout  Brittany  as  Sel  de  Guerande,  and  to  its 
merits  many  of  the  natives  ascribe  the  excellence  of  their 
butter  and  sardines.  It  has  no  communication  with  the  rest 
of  France  but  by  two  roads,  one  leading  to  Savenay,  the  chief 
town  of  the  immediate  district,  and  thence  to  Saint-Nazaire ; 
and  the  other  by  Vannes  on  to  Morbihan.  The  district  road 
connects  it  with  Nantes  by  land ;  that  by  Saint-Nazaire  and 
then  by  boat  also  leads  to  Nantes.  The  inland  road  is  used 
only  by  the  Government,  the  shorter  and  more  frequented  way 
is  by  Saint-Nazaire.  Between  that  town  and  Gudrande  lies  a 
distance  of  at  least  six  leagues,  which  the  mails  do  not  serve, 
and  for  a  very  good  reason — there  are  not  three  travelers  by 
coach  a  year.  Saint-Nazaire  is  divided  from  Paimboeuf  by 
the  estuary  of  the  Loire,  there  four  leagues  in  width.  The  bar 
of  the  river  makes  the  navigation  by  steamboat  somewhat  un- 
certain ;  and,  to  add  to  the  difficulties,  there  was,  in  1829,  no 


6  BEATRIX. 

landing  quay  at  the  cape  of  Saint-Nazaire ;  the  point  ended 

in  slimy  shoals  and  granite  reefs,  the  natural  fortifications  of 
its  picturesque  church,  compelling  arriving  voyagers  to  fling 
themselves  and  their  baggage  into  boats  when  the  sea  was 
high,  or,  in  fine  weather,  to  walk  across  the  rocks  as  far  as 
the  jetty  then  in  course  of  construction.  These  obstacles,  ill 
suited  to  invite  the  amateur,  may  perhaps  still  exist  there. 
In  the  first  place,  the  authorities  move  but  slowly;  and  then 
the  natives  of  this  corner  of  land,  which  you  may  see  pro- 
jecting like  a  tooth  on  the  map  of  France  between  Saint- 
Nazaire,  le  Bourg  de  Batz,  and  le  Croisic,  are  very  well 
content  with  the  hindrances  that  protect  their  territory  from 
the  incursions  of  strangers. 

Thus  flung  down  on  the  edge  of  a  continent,  Gu^rande 
leads  no  whither,  and  no  one  ever  comes  there.  Happy  in 
being  unknown,  the  town  cares  only  for  itself.  The  centre 
of  the  immense  produce  of  the  salt  marshes,  paying  not  less 
than  a  million  francs  in  taxes,  is  at  le  Croisic,  a  peninsular 
town  communicating  with  Guerande  across  a  tract  of  shifting 
sands,  where  the  road  traced  each  day  is  washed  out  each 
night,  and  by  boats  indispensable  for  crossing  the  inlet, 
which  forms  the  port  of  le  Croisic,  and  which  encroaches  on 
the  sand.  Thus  this  charming  little  town  is  a  Herculaneum 
of  feudalism,  minus  the  winding-sheet  of  lava.  It  stands, 
but  is  not  alive ;  its  only  reason  for  surviving  is  that  it  has 
not  been  pulled  down. 

If  you  arrive  at  Guerande  from  le  Croisic,  after  crossing 
the  tract  of  salt  marshes,  you  are  startled  and  excited  at  the 
sight  of  this  immense  fortification,  apparently  quite  new. 
Coming  on  it  from  Saint-Nazaire,  its  picturesque  position  and 
the  rural  charm  of  the  neighborhood  are  no  less  fascinating. 
The  country  round  it  is  charming,  the  hedges  full  of  flowers — 
honeysuckles,  roses,  and  beautiful  shrubs ;  you  might  fancy  it 
was  an  English  wild-garden  planned  by  a  great  artist.  This 
rich  landscape,  so  homelike,  so  little  visited,  with  all  the 


BEATRIX.  7 

charm  of  a  clump  of  violets  or  lily-of-the-valley  found  in  the 
midst  of  a  forest,  is  set  in  an  African  desert  shut  in  by  the 
ocean — a  desert  without  a  tree,  without  a  blade  of  grass, 
without  a  bird,  where,  on  a  sunny  day,  the  raarshmen,  dressed 
all  in  white,  and  scattered  at  wide  intervals  over  the  dismal 
flats  where  the  salt  is  collected,  look  just  like  Arabs  wrapped 
in  their  burnouse.  Indeed,  Guerande,  with  its  pretty  scenery 
inland,  and  its  desert  bounded  on  the  right  by  le  Croisic  and 
on  the  left  by  Batz,  is  quite  unlike  anything  else  to  be  seen  by 
the  traveler  in  France,  The  two  types  of  nature  so  strongly 
contrasted  and  linked  by  this  last  monument  of  feudal  life 
are  quite  indescribably  striking.  The  town  itself  has  the 
effect  on  the  mind  that  a  soporific  has  on  the  body ;  it  is  as 
soundless  as  Venice. 

There  is  no  public  conveyance  but  that  of  a  carrier  who 
transports  travelers,  parcels,  and  possibly  letters,  in  a  wretched 
vehicle,  from  Saint-Nazaire  to  Guerande  or  back  again. 
Bernus,  the  driver  of  this  conveyance,  was,  in  1829,  the  fac- 
totum of  the  whole  community.  He  goes  as  he  likes,  the 
whole  country  knows  him,  he  does  everybody's  commissions. 
The  arrival  of  a  carriage  is  an  immense  event — some  lady  who 
is  passing  through  Guerande  by  the  land  road  to  le  Croisic,  or 
a  few  old  invalids  on  their  way  to  take  sea-baths,  which 
among  the  rocks  of  this  peninsula  have  virtues  superior  to 
those  of  Boulogne,  Dieppe,  or  les  Sables.  The  peasants  come 
on  horseback,  and  for  the  most  part  bring  in  their  produce  in 
sacks.  They  come  hither  chiefly,  as  do  the  salt-makers,  for 
the  business  of  purchasing  the  jewelry  peculiar  to  their  caste, 
which  must  always  be  given  to  Breton  maidens  on  betrothal, 
and  the  white  linen  or  the  cloth  for  their  clothes.  For  ten 
leagues  round,  Guerande  is  still  that  illustrious  Gudrande 
where  a  treaty  was  signed  famous  in  French  history ;  the  key 
of  the  coast,  displaying  no  less  than  le  Bourg  de  Batz  a  mag- 
nificence now  lost  in  the  darkness  of  ages.  The  jewelry,  the 
cloth,  the  linen,  the  ribbons,  and  hats  are  manufactured  else- 


8  BE  A  TRIX. 

where,  but  to  the  purchasers  they  are  the  specialty  of  Gu6r- 
ande. 

Every  artist,  nay,  and  every  one  who  is  not  an  artist,  who 
passes  through  Guerande,  feels  a  desire — soon  forgotten — to 
end  his  days  in  its  peace  and  stillness,  walking  out  in  fine 
weather  on  the  mall  that  runs  round  the  town  from  one  gate 
to  the  other  on  the  seaward  side.  Now  and  again  a  vision  of 
this  town  comes  to  knock  at  the  gates  of  memory ;  it  comes 
in  crowned  with  towers,  belted  with  walls  ;  it  displays  its  robe 
strewn  with  lovely  flowers,  shakes  its  mantle  of  sand-hills, 
wafts  the  intoxicating  perfumes  of  its  pretty  thorn-hedged 
lanes,  decked  with  posies  lightly  flung  together;  it  fills  your 
mind,  and  invites  you  like  some  divine  woman  whom  you 
have  once  seen  in  a  foreign  land,  and  who  has  made  herself  a 
home  in  your  heart. 

Close  to  the  church  of  Gu6rande  a  house  may  be  seen 
which  is  to  the  town  what  the  town  is  to  the  country,  an 
exact  image  of  the  past,  the  symbol  of  a  great  thing  now 
gone,  a  poem.  This  house  belongs  to  the  noblest  family  in 
the  land — that  of  du  Guaisnic,  who,  in  the  time  of  the  du 
Guesclin,  were  as  superior  to  them  in  fortune  and  antiquity  as 
the  Trojans  were  to  the  Romans.  The  Guaisqlain  (also  for- 
merly spelt  du  Glaicquin) — which  has  become  Guesclin — are 
descended  from  the  Guaisnics.  The  Guaisnics,  as  old  as  the 
granite  of  Brittany,  are  neither  Franks  nor  Gauls ;  they  are 
Bretons,  or,  to  be  exact,  Celts.  Of  old  they  must  have  been 
Druids,  have  cut  the  mistletoe  in  sacred  groves,  and  have 
sacrificed  men  on  dolmens.  To-day  this  race,  the  equals  of 
the  Rohans,  but  never  chosing  to  be  made  princes,  powerful 
in  the  land  before  Hugues  Capet's  ancestors  had  been  heard 
of,  this  family,  pure  from  every  alloy,  is  possessed  of  about 
two  thousand  francs  a  year,  this  house  at  Guerande,  and  the 
little  Castle  of  le  Guaisnic.  All  the  estates  belonging  to  the 
Barony  of  le  Guaisnic,   the  oldest  in  Brittany,  are   in  the 


BEATRIX.  9 

hands  of  farmers,  and  bring  in  about  sixty  thousand  francs  a 
year  in  spite  of  defective  culture.  The  du  Guaisnics  are  in- 
deed still  the  owners  of  the  land ;  but  as  they  cannot  pay  up 
the  capital  deposited  with  them  two  hundred  years  ago  by 
those  who  then  held  them,  they  cannot  take  the  income. 
They  are  in  the  position  of  the  French  Crown  toward  its 
tenants  in  1789.  When  and  where  could  the  barons  find  the 
million  francs  handed  over  to  them  by  their  farmers  ?  Until 
1789  the  tenure  of  the  fiefs  held  of  the  Castle  of  le  Guaisnic, 
which  stands  on  a  hill,  was  still  worth  fifty  thousand  francs ; 
but  by  a  single  vote  the  National  Assembly  suppressed  the 
fines  on  leases  and  sales  paid  to  the  feudal  lords.  In  such 
circumstances,  this  family,  no  longer  of  any  consequence  in 
France,  would  be  a  subject  of  ridicule  in  Paris  ;  at  Guerande, 
it  is  an  epitome  of  Brittany.  At  Guerande,  the  Baron  du 
Guaisnic  is  one  of  the  great  barons  of  France,  one  of  the  men 
above  whom  there  is  but  one — the  King  of  France,  chosen 
of  old  to  be  their  chief.  In  these  days  the  name  of  du  Guais- 
nic— full  of  local  meanings,  of  which  the  etymology  has  been 
explained  in  "  Les  Chouans  or  Brittany  in  1799  " — has  under- 
gone the  same  change  as  disfigures  that  of  du  Guaisqlain. 
The  tax-collector,  like  every  one  else,  writes  it  Guenic. 

At  the  end  of  a  silent,  damp,  and  gloomy  alley,  formed 
by  the  gabled  fronts  of  the  neighboring  houses,  the  arch 
of  a  door  in  the  wall  may  be  seen,  high  and  wide  enough 
to  admit  a  horseman,  which  is  in  itself  sufficient  evidence 
of  the  house  having  been  finished  at  a  time  when  car- 
riages as  yet  were  not.  This  arch,  raised  on  jambs,  is  all 
of  granite.  The  door,  made  of  oak,  has  cracked  like 
the  bark  of  the  trees  that  furnished  the  timber,  and  is 
set  with  enormous  nails  in  a  geometrical  pattern.  The 
arch  is  coved,  and  displays  the  coat-of-arms  of  the  du 
Guaisnics,  as  sharp  and  clean-cut  as  though  the  carver  had 
but  just  finished  it.  This  shield  would  delight  an  ama- 
teur of  heraldry  by  its  simplicity,  testifying  to  the  pride  and 


10  BEA  TRIX. 

the  antiquity  of  the  family.  It  is  still  the  same  as  on  the 
day  when  the  crusaders  of  the  Christian  world  invented  these 
symbols  to  know  each  other  by ;  the  Guaisnics  have  never 
quartered  their  bearings  with  any  others.  It  is  always  true 
to  itself,  like  the  arms  of  France,  which  heralds  may  recog- 
nize borne  in  chief  or  quarterly  in  the  coats  of  the  oldest 
families.  This  is  the  blazon,  as  you  still  may  see  it  at  Guer- 
ande  :  Gules,  a  hand  proper  manched  ermine  holding  a  sword 
argent  in  pale,  with  this  tremendous  motto,  Fac.  Is  not  that 
a  fine  and  great  thing  ?  The  wreath  of  the  baronial  coronet 
surmounts  this  simple  shield,  on  which  the  vertical  lines,  used, 
instead  of  color,  to  represent  gules,  are  still  clear  and  sharp. 

The  sculptor  has  given  an  indescribable  look  of  pride  and 
chivalry  to  the  hand.  With  what  vigor  does  it  hold  the 
sword  which  has  done  the  family  service  only  yesterday  !  In- 
deed, if  you  should  go  to  Guerande  after  reading  this  story, 
you  will  not  look  at  that  coat-of-arms  without  a  thrill.  The 
most  determined  Republican  cannot  fail  to  be  touched  by  the 
fidelity,  the  nobleness,  and  the  dignity  buried  at  the  bottom 
of  that  narrow  street.  The  du  Guaisnics  did  well  yesterday ; 
they  are  ready  to  do  well  to-morrow.  **  To  do  "  is  the  great 
word  of  chivalry.  "You  did  well  in  the  fight"  was  always 
the  praise  bestowed  by  the  High  Constable  par  excellence, 
the  great  du  Guesclin,  who  for  a  while  drove  the  English 
out  of  France.  The  depth  of  the  carving,  protected  from 
the  weather  by  the  projecting  curved  margin  of  the  arch, 
seems  in  harmony  with  the  deeply  graven  moral  of  the  motto 
in  the  spirit  of  this  family.  To  those  who  know  the  Guaisnics 
this  peculiarity  is  very  pathetic. 

The  open  door  reveals  a  fairly  large  courtyard  with  stables 
to  the  right  and  kitchen  offices  to  the  left.  The  house  is 
built  of  squared  stone  from  cellar  to  garret.  The  front  to  the 
courtyard  has  a  double  flight  of  outside  steps ;  the  decorated 
landing  at  the  top  is  covered  with  vestiges  of  sculpture  much 
injured  by  time ;  but  the  eye  of  the  antiquarian  can  still  dis- 


r 


BEATRIX.  11 

tinguish  in  the  centre-piece  of  the  principal  ornament  the 
hand  holding  the  sword.  Below  this  elegant  balcony,  graced 
with  mouldings  now  broken  in  many  places,  and  polished 
here  and  there  by  long  use,  is  a  little  lodge,  once  occupied 
by  a  watch-dog.  The  stone  balustrade  is  disjointed,  and 
weeds,  tiny  flowers,  and  mosses  sprout  in  the  seams  and  on 
the  steps,  which  ages  have  dislodged  without  destroying  their 
solidity.  The  door  into  the  house  must  have  been  pretty  in 
its  day.  So  far  as  the  remains  allow  us  to  judge,  it  must  have 
been  wrought  by  an  artist  trained  in  the  great  Venetian  school 
of  the  thirteenth  century;  it  shows  a  singular  combination 
of  the  Mauresque  and  Byzantine  styles,  and  is  crowned  by  a 
semicircular  bracket,  which  is  overgrown  with  plants,  a  posy 
of  rose,  yellow,  brown,  or  blue,  according  to  the  season. 
The  door,  of  nail-studded  oak,  opens  into  a  vast  hall,  beyond 
which  is  a  similar  door  leading  to  such  another  balcony,  and 
steps  down  into  the  garden. 

This  hall  is  in  wonderful  preservation.  The  wainscot,  up 
to  the  height  of  a  man's  elbow,  is  in  chestnut-wood;  the 
walls  above  are  covered  with  splendid  Spanish  leather  stamped 
in  relief,  its  gilding  rubbed  and  rusty.  The  ceiling  is  coffered, 
artistically  moulded,  painted,  and  gilt,  but  the  gold  is 
scarcely  visible ;  it  is  in  the  same  condition  as  that  on  the 
Cordova  leather ;  a  few  red  flowers  and  green  leaves  can  still 
be  seen.  It  seems  probable  that  cleaning  would  revive  the 
paintings  and  show  them  to  be  like  those  which  decorate  the 
woodwork  of  the  House  at  Tours,  called  la  Maison  de  Tristan, 
which  would  prove  that  they  had  been  restored  or  repaired  in 
the  time  of  Louis  XI.  The  fireplace  is  enormous,  of  carved 
stone,  with  huge  wrought-iron  dogs  of  the  finest  workmanship. 
They  would  carry  a  cartload  of  logs.  All  the  seats  in  this 
hall  are  of  oak,  and  have  the  family  shield  carved  on  their 
backs.  Hanging  to  nails  on  the  wall  are  three  English  mus- 
kets, fit  alike  for  war  or  for  sport,  three  cavalry  swords,  two 
game-bags,  and  various  tackle  for  hunting  and  fishing. 


12  BEATRIX. 

On  one  side  is  the  dining-room,  communicating  with  the 
kitchen  by  a  door  in  a  corner  turret.  This  turret  corresponds 
with  another  in  the  general  design  of  the  front,  containing  a 
winding-stair  up  to  the  two  stories  above.  The  dining-room 
is  hung  with  tapestries  dating  from  the  fourteenth  century ; 
the  style  and  spelling  of  the  legends  on  ribbons  below  each 
figure  prove  their  antiquity;  but  as  they  are  couched  in  the 
frank  language  of  the  Fabliaux,*  they  cannot  be  transcribed 
here.  These  pieces,  which  are  well  preserved  in  the  corners 
where  the  light  has  not  faded  them,  are  set  in  frames  of  carved 
oak  now  as  black  as  ebony.  The  ceiling  is  supported  on 
beams  carved  with  foliage,  and  all  different ;  the  flats  between 
are  of  painted  wood,  wreaths  of  flowers  on  a  blue  ground. 
Two  old  dressers  with  cupboards  face  each  other ;  and  on  the 
shelves,  rubbed  with  Breton  perseverance  by  Mariotte  the 
cook,  may  be  seen  now — as  at  the  time  when  kings  were  quite 
as  poor  in  1200  as  the  du  Guaisnics  in  1830 — four  old  goblets, 
an  ancient  soup-tureen,  and  two  salt-cellars  in  silver,  a  quan- 
tity of  metal  plates,  a  number  of  blue  and  gray  stoneware 
pitchers  with  arabesque  designs  and  the  du  Guaisnic  arms, 
and  crowned  with  hinged  metal  lids-. 

The  fireplace  has  been  modernized ;  its  state  shows  that 
since  the  last  century  this  has  been  the  family  sitting-room. 
It  is  of  carved  stone  in  the  Louis  XV.  style,  surmounted  by  a 
mirror  framed  in  a  beaded  and  gilt  moulding.  This  anachro- 
nism, to  which  the  family  is  indifferent,  would  grieve  a  poet. 
On  the  shelf,  covered  with  red  velvet,  there  stands  in  the 
middle  a  clock  of  tortoise-shell,  inlaid  with  brass,  flanked  by  a 
pair  of  silver  candelabra  of  strange  design.  A  large  table  on 
heavy  twisted  legs  stands  in  the  middle  of  the  room ;  the 
chairs  are  of  turned  wood,  covered  with  tapestry.  A  round- 
table  with  a  centre  leg  and  claw  carved  to  represent  a  vine- 
stock  stands  in  front  of  the  window  to  the  garden,  and  on  it 

*  Ancient  stories  in  verse. 


BEATRIX.  13 

Stands  a  quaint  lamp.  This  lamp  is  formed  of  a  globe  of 
common  glass,  rather  smaller  than  an  ostrich's  egg,  held  in  a 
candlestick  by  a  glass  knob  at  the  bottom.  From  an  opening 
at  the  top  comes  a  flat  wick  in  a  sort  of  brass  nozzle  ;  the  plait 
of  cotton,  curled  up  like  a  worm  in  a  phial,  is  fed  with  nut 
oil  from  the  glass  vessel.  The  window  looking  out  on  the 
garden,  like  that  on  the  courtyard — for  they  are  alike — has 
stone  mullions  and  hexagon  panes  set  in  lead  j.  they  are  hung 
with  curtains  and  valances,  decorated  with  heavy  tassels  of  an 
old-fashioned  stuff — red  silk  shot  with  yellow,  formerly  known 
as  brocatelle  or  damask. 

Each  floor  of  the  house — there  are  but  two  below  the  attics 
— consists  of  only  two  rooms.  The  second  floor  was  of  old 
inhabited  by  the  head  of  the  family;  the  third  was  given  up  to 
the  children ;  guests  were  lodged  in  the  attic  rooms.  The 
servants  were  housed  over  the  kitchens  and  stables.  The 
sloping  roof,  leaded  at  every  angle,  has  to  the  front  and  back 
alike  a  noble  dormer  window  with  a  pointed  arch,  almost  as 
high  as  the  ridge  of  the  roof,  supported  on  graceful  brackets ; 
but  the  carving  of  the  stone  is  worn  and  eaten  by  the  salt  vapor 
of  the  atmosphere.  Above  the  windows,  divided  into  four  by 
mullions  of  carved  stone,  the  aristocratic  weathercock  still 
creaks  as  it  veers. 

A  detail,  precious  by  its  originality  and  not  devoid  of 
merit  in  the  eyes  of  the  archaeologist,  must  not  be  overlooked. 
The  turret  containing  the  winding  stairs  finishes  the  angle  of  a 
broad  gabled  wall  in  which  there  is  no  window.  The  stairs 
go  down  to  a  small  arched  door,  opening  on  a  sandy  plot 
dividing  the  house  from  the  outer  wall  which  forms  the  back 
of  the  stables.  The  turret  is  repeated  at  the  corner  of  the 
garden-front ;  but,  instead  of  being  circular,  this  turret  has 
five  angles  and  a  hemispherical  dome ;  also,  it  is  crowned  by 
a  little  belfry  instead  of  carrying  a  conical  cap  like  its  sister. 
This  is  how  those  elegant  architects  lent  variety  to  symmetry. 
On  the  level  of  the  second  floor  these  turrets  are  connected 


14  BEATRIX. 

by  a  stone  balcony,  supported  by  brackets  like  prows  with 
human  heads.  This  outside  gallery  has  a  balustrade  wrought 
with  marvelous  elegance  and  finish.  Then  from  the  top  of 
the  gable,  below  which  there  is  a  single  small  loophole,  falls 
an  ornamental  stone  canopy,  like  those  which  are  seen  over 
the  heads  of  saints  in  a  cathedral  porch.  Each  turret  has  a 
pretty  little  doorway  under  a  pointed  arch,  opening  on  to 
this  balcony.  Thus  did  the  architects  of  the  thirteenth  cen- 
tury turn  to  account  the  bare,  cold  wall  which  is  presented  to 
us  in  modern  times  by  the  end-section  of  a  house. 

Cannot  you  see  a  lady  walking  on  this  balcony  in  the  morn- 
ing and  looking  out  over  Guerande  to  where  the  sun  sheds 
a  golden  light  on  the  sands  and  is  mirrored  in  the  face  of  the 
ocean  ?  Do  you  not  admire  this  wall  with  its  finial  and  gable, 
furnished  at  its  corners  with  these  reed-like  turrets — one  sud- 
denly rounded  off  like  a  swallow's  nest,  the  other  displaying 
its  little  door  and  gothic  arch  decorated  with  the  hand  and 
sword  ? 

The  other  end  of  the  Hotel  du  Guaisnic  joins  on  to  the  next 
house. 

The  harmony  of  effect  so  carefully  aimed  at  by  the  builders 
of  tliat  period  is  preserved  in  the  front  to  the  courtyard  by 
the  turret  corresponding  to  that  containing  the  winding  stair 
or  vyse,  an  old  word  derived  from  the  French  vis.  It  serves 
as  a  passage  from  the  dining-room  to  the  kitchen,  but  it  ends 
at  the  second  floor,  and  is  capped  by  a  little  cupola  on  pillars 
covering  a  blackened  statue  of  Saint  Calixtus. 

The  garden  is  sumptuous  within  its  ancient  inclosure ;  it  is 
more  than  half  an  acre  in  extent,  and  the  walls  are  covered 
with  fruit  trees;  the  square  beds  for  vegetables  are  marked 
out  by  standards,  and  kept  by  a  manservant  named  Gasselin, 
who  also  takes  charge  of  the  horses.  At  the  bottom  of  the 
garden  is  an  arbor  with  a  bench  under  it.  In  the  midst 
stands  a  sundial.     The  paths  are  graveled. 

The  garden-front  has  no  second  turret  to  correspond  with 


BEATRIX.  16 

that  at  the  corner  of  the  gable  ;  to  make  up  for  this  there  is  a 
column  with  a  spiral  twist  from  bottom  to  top,  which  of  old 
must  have  borne  the  standard  of  the  family,  for  it  ends  in  a 
large  rusty  iron  socket  in  which  lank  weeds  are  growing.  This 
ornament,  harmonizing  with  the  remains  of  stonework,  shows 
that  the  building  was  designed  by  a  Venetian  architect ;  this 
elegant  standard  is  like  a  sign  manual  left  by  Venice,  and  re- 
vealing the  chivalry  and  refinement  of  the  thirteenth  century. 
If  there  could  still  be  any  doubt,  the  character  of  the  details 
would  remove  them.  The  trefoils  of  the  Guaisnic  house  have 
four  leaves.  This  variant  betrays  the  Venetian  school  debased 
by  its  trade  with  the  East,  since  the  semi-Mauresque  architects, 
indifferent  to  Catholic  symbolism,  gave  the  trefoil  a  fourth 
leaf,  while  Christian  architects  remained  faithful  to  the  emblem 
of  the  Trinity.  From  this  point  of  view  Venetian  inventive- 
ness was  heretical. 

If  this  house  moves  you  to  admiration,  you  will  wonder, 
perhaps,  why  the  present  age  never  repeats  these  miracles  of 
art.  In  our  day  such  fine  houses  are  sold  and  pulled  down, 
and  make  way  for  streets.  Nobody  knows  whether  the  next 
generation  will  keep  up  the  ancestral  home,  where  each  one 
abides  as  in  an  inn ;  whereas  formerly  men  labored,  or  at 
least  believed  that  they  labored,  for  an  eternal  posterity. 
Hence  the  beauty  of  their  houses.  Faith  in  themselves 
worked  wonders,  as  much  as  faith  in  God. 

With  regard  to  the  arrangement  and  furniture  of  the  upper 
stories,  they  can  only  be  imagined  from  this  description  of 
the  first  floor  and  from  the  appearance  and  habits  of  the 
family.  For  the  last  fifty  years  the  du  Guaisnics  have  never 
admitted  a  visitor  into  any  room  but  these  two,  which,  like 
the  courtyard  and  the  external  features  of  the  house,  are  redo- 
lent of  the  grace,  the  spirit,  and  originality  of  the  noble 
province  of  old  Brittany. 

Without  this  topography  and  description  of  the  town,  with- 
out this  detailed  picture  of  their  home,  the  singular  figures  of 


16  BE  A  TRIX. 

the  family  dwelling  there  might  have  been  less  well  under- 
stood. The  frame  was  necessarily  placed  before  the  portraits. 
Every  one  must  feel  that  mere  things  have  an  effect  on  people. 
There  are  buildings  whose  influence  is  visible  on  the  persons 
who  live  near  them.  It  is  difficult  to  be  irreligious  under  the 
shadow  of  a  cathedral  like  that  of  Bourges.  The  soul  that  is 
constantly  reminded  of  its  destiny  by  imagery  finds  it  less 
easy  to  fall  short  of  it.  So  thought  our  ancestors,  but  the 
opinion  is  no  longer  held  by  a  generation  which  has  neither 
symbols  nor  distinctions,  while  its  manners  change  every  ten 
years.  Do  you  not  expect  to  find  the  Baron  du  Guaisnic, 
sword  in  hand — or  all  this  picture  will  be  false  ? 

In  1836,  when  this  drama  opens,  in  the  early  days  of 
August,  the  family  consisted  still  of  Monsieur  and  Madame 
du  Guenic,  of  Mademoiselle  du  Guenic,  the  Baron's  elder 
sister,  and  of  a  son  aged  one-and-twenty,  named  Gaudebert- 
Calyste-Louis,  in  obedience  to  an  old  custom  in  the  family. 
His  father's  name  was  Gaudebert-Calyste-Charles,  Only  the 
last  name  was  ever  changed ;  Saint-Gaudebert  and  Saint- 
Calixtus  were  always  the  patrons  of  the  Gu6nics. 

The  Baron  du  Guenic  had  gone  forth  from  Guerande  as 
soon  as  la  Vendee  and  Brittany  had  taken  up  arms,  and  he 
had  fought  with  Charette,  with  Catelineau,  la  Rochejaquelein, 
d'Elbee,  Bonchamps,  and  the  Prince  de  Loudon.  Before  go- 
ing, he  had  sold  all  his  possessions  to  his  elder  sister,  Made- 
moiselle Zephirine  du  Guenic,  a  stroke  of  prudence  unique  in 
Revolutionary  annals.  After  the  death  of  all  the  heroes  of 
the  West,  the  Baron,  preserved  by  some  miracle  from  ending 
as  they  did,  would  not  yield  to  Napoleon.  He  fought  on  till 
1802,  when,  having  narrowly  escaped  capture,  he  came  back 
to  Guerande,  and  from  Guerande  went  to  le  Croisic,  whence 
he  sailed  to  Ireland — faithful  to  the  traditional  hatred  of  the 
Bretons  for  England. 

The  good  people  of  Guerande  pretended  not  to  know  that 


BEATRIX.  17 

the  Baron  was  alive ;  during  twenty  years  not  a  word  be- 
trayed him.  Mademoiselle  du  Guenic  collected  the  rents, 
and  sent  the  money  to  her  brother  through  the  hands  of 
fishermen. 

In  1813,  Monsieur  du  Guenic  came  back  to  Gudrande  with 
as  little  fuss  as  if  he  had  been  spending  the  summer  at  Nantes. 
During  his  sojourn  in  Dublin,  in  spite  of  his  fifty  years,  the 
Breton  noble  had  fallen  in  love  with  a  charming  Irish  girl,  the 
daughter  of  one  of  the  oldest  and  poorest  houses  of  that  un- 
happy country.  Miss  Fanny  O'Brien  was  at  that  time  one- 
and-twenty.  The  Baron  du  Guenic  came  to  fetch  the  papers 
needed  for  his  marriage,  went  back  to  be  married,  and  re- 
turned ten  months  later,  at  the  beginning  of  181 4,  with  his 
wife,  who  gave  birth  to  a  son  on  the  very  day  when  Louis 
XVIII.  landed  at  Calais — which  accounts  for  the  name  of 
Louis. 

The  loyal  old  man  was  now  seventy-three  years  old,  but  the 
guerilla  warfare  against  the  Republic,  his  sufferings  during 
five  sea-voyages  in  open  boats,  and  his  life  at  Dublin,  had  all 
told  on  him ;  he  looked  more  than  a  hundred.  Hence,  never 
had  there  been  a  Guenic  whose  appearance  was  in  more  perfect 
harmony  with  the  antiquity  of  the  house  built  at  a  time  when 
a  court  was  held  at  Guerande. 

Monsieur  du  Guenic  was  a  tall  old  man,  upright,  shriveled, 
strongly  knit  and  lean.  His  oval  face  was  puckered  by  a 
thousand  wrinkles,  forming  arched  fringes  above  the  cheek- 
bones and  eyebrows,  giving  his  face  some  resemblance  to  those 
of  the  old  men  painted  with  such  a  loving  brush  by  Van  Os- 
tade,  Rembrandt,  Mieris,  and  Gerard  Dow — heads  that  need 
a  magnifying  glass  to  show  their  finish.  His  countenance  was 
buried,  as  it  were,  under  these  numerous  furrows  produced  by 
an  open-air  life,  by  the  habit  of  scanning  the  horizon  in  the 
sunshine,  at  sunrise,  and  at  the  fall  of  day.  But  the  sym- 
pathetic observer  could  still  discern  the  imperishable  forms 
of  the  human  face,  which  always  speak  to  the  soul  even  when 
2 


18  BEATRIX. 

the  eye  sees  no  more  than  a  death's  head.  The  firm  modeling 
of  the  features,  the  high  brow,  the  sternness  of  outline,  the 
severe  nose,  the  form  of  the  bones  which  wounds  alone  can 
alter,  expressed  disinterested  courage,  boundless  faith,  im- 
plicit obedience,  incorruptible  fidelity,  unchanging  affection. 
In  him  the  granite  of  Brittany  was  made  man. 

The  Baron  had  no  teeth.  His  lips,  once  red,  but  now 
blue,  were  supported  only  by  the  hardened  gums  with  which 
he  ate  the  bread  his  wife  took  care  first  to  soften  by  wrapping 
it  in  a  damp  cloth,  and  they  were  sunk  in  his  face  while  pre- 
serving a  proud  and  threatening  smile.  His  chin  aimed  at 
touching  his  nose  ;  but  the  character  of  that  nose — high  in 
the  middle — showed  his  Breton  vigor  and  power  of  resistance. 
His  complexion,  marbled  with  red  that  showed  through  the 
wrinkles,  was  that  of  a  full-blooded,  high-tempered  man,  able 
to  endure  the  fatigues  which  had  often,  no  doubt,  saved  him 
from  apoplexy.  The  head  was  crowned  with  hair  as  white  as 
silver,  falling  in  curls  on  his  shoulders.  His  face,  that  seemed 
partly  extinct,  still  lived  by  the  brightness  of  a  pair  of  black 
eyes,  sparkling  in  their  dark,  sunken  sockets,  and  flashing 
with  the  last  fires  of  a  generous  and  loyal  soul.  The  eyebrows 
and  eyelashes  were  gone.  The  skin  had  set,  and  would  not 
yield  ;  the  difficulty  of  shaving  compelled  the  old  man  to 
grow  a  fan-shaped  beard. 

What  a  painter  would  most  have  admired  in  this  old  lion 
of  Brittany,  with  his  broad  shoulders  and  sinewy  breast,  was 
the  hands,  splendid  soldier's  hands — hands  such  as  du  Gues- 
clin's  must  have  been,  broad,  firm,  and  hairy;  the  hands  that 
had  seized  the  sword  never  to  relinquish  it — any  more  than 
Jeanne  d'Arc's — till  the  day  when  the  royal  standard  floated 
in  the  Cathedral  at  Reims ;  hands  that  had  often  streamed 
with  blood  from  the  thorns  of  the  Socage — the  thickets  of  la 
Vendee — that  had  pulled  the  oar  in  the  Marais  to  steal  upon 
the  "  blues,"  or  on  the  open  sea  to  help  Georges  to  land ;  the 
'hands  of  a  partisan  and  of  a  gunner,  of  a  private  and  of  a 


BEATRIX.  19 

captain  ;  hands  that  were  now  white,  though  the  Bourbons  of 
the  elder  branch  were  in  exile ;  but  if  you  looked  at  them, 
you  could  see  certain  recent  marks  revealing  that  the  Baron, 
not  so  long  ago,  had  joined  Madame  in  la  Vendee,  since  the 
truth  may  now  be  told.  These  hands  were  a  living  commen- 
tary on  the  noble  motto  to  which  no  Guenic  had  ever  been 
false,  ''Fad'' 

The  forehead  attracted  attention  by  the  golden  tone  on  the 
temples,  in  contrast  with  the  tan  of  that  narrow,  hard,  set 
brow  to  which  baldness  had  given  height  enough  to  add 
majesty  to  the  noble  ruin.  The  whole  countenance,  some- 
what unintellectual  it  must  be  owned — and  how  should  it  be 
otherwise  ? — had,  like  the  other  Breton  faces  grouped  about 
it,  a  touch  of  savagery,  a  stolid  calm,  like  the  impassibility 
of  Huron  Indians,  an  indescribable  stupidity,  due  perhaps  to 
the  complete  reaction  that  follows  on  excessive  fatigue  when 
the  animal  alone  is  left  evident.  Thought  was  rare  there; 
it  was  visibly  an  effort ;  its  seat  was  in  the  heart  rather  than 
the  head ;  and  its  outcome  was  action  rather  than  an  idea. 
But  on  studying  this  fine  old  man  with  sustained  attention, 
the  mystery  could  be  detected  of  this  practical  antagonism  to 
the  spirit  of  the  age.  His  feelings  and  beliefs  were,  so  to 
speak,  intuitive,  and  saved  him  all  thought.  He  had  learned 
his  duties  by  dint  of  living.  Religion  and  institutions  thought 
for  him.  Hence  he  and  his  kindred  reserved  their  powers  of 
mind  for  action,  without  frittering  them  on  any  of  the  things 
they  thought  useless,  though  others  considered  them  import- 
ant. He  brought  his  thought  out  of  his  mind  as  he  drew 
his  sword  from  the  scabbard,  dazzling  with  rectitude  like  the 
hand  in  its  ermine  sleeve  on  his  coat-of-arms.  As  soon  as 
this  secret  was  understood  everything  was  clear.  It  explained 
the  depth  of  the  resolutions  due  to  clear,  definite,  loyal  ideas, 
as  immaculate  as  ermine.  It  accounted  for  the  sale  to  his 
sister  before  the  war,  though  to  him  it  had  meant  everything 
— death,  confiscation,  exile.     The  beauty  of  these  two  old 


20  BEATRIX. 

persons'  characters — for  the  sister  lived  only  in  and  for  her 
brother — cannot  be  fully  appreciated  by  the  selfish  habits 
which  lie  at  the  root  of  the  uncertainty  and  changefulness  of 
our  day.  An  archangel  sent  down  to  read  their  hearts  would 
not  have  found  in  them  a  single  thought  bearing  the  stamp 
of  self.  In  1814,  when  the  priest  of  Guerande  hinted  to 
Baron  du  Guenic  that  he  should  go  to  Paris  to  claim  his  re- 
ward, the  old  sister,  though  avaricious  for  the  family,  ex- 
claimed— 

"  Shame  !     Need  my  brother  go  begging  like  a  vagrant  ?  " 

"  It  would  be  supposed  that  I  had  served  the  King  from 
interested  motives,"  said  the  old  man.  *'  Beside,  it  is  his 
business  to  remember.  And,  after  all,  the  poor  King  has 
enough  to  do  with  all  who  are  harassing  him.  If  he  were  to 
give  France  away  piecemeal,  he  would  still  be  asked  for 
more." 

This  devoted  servant,  who  cared  so  loyally  for  Louis 
XVIII.,  received  a  colonelcy,  the  cross  of  Saint-Louis,  and 
a  pension  of  two  thousand  francs. 

"  The  King  has  remembered !  "  he  exclaimed,  on  receiving 
his  letters  patent. 

No  one  undeceived  him.  The  business  had  been  carried 
through  by  the  Due  de  Feltre  from  the  lists  of  the  Army 
of  la  Vendee,  in  which  he  found  the  name  of  du  Gu6nic 
with  a  few  other  Breton  names  ending  in  ic. 

And  so,  in  gratitude  to  the  King,  the  Baron  stood  a 
siege  at  Guerande  in  181 5  against  the  forces  of  General 
Travot ;  he  would  not  surrender  the  stronghold ;  and  when 
he  was  compelled  to  evacuate,  he  made  his  escape  into  the 
woods  with  a  party  of  Chouans,  who  remained  under  arms 
till  the  second  return  of  the  Bourbons.  Guerande  still 
preserves  the  memory  of  this  last  siege.  If  the  old  Breton 
trainbands  had  but  joined,  the  war  begun  by  this  heroic 
resistance  would  have  fired  the  whole  of  la  Vendee. 

It   must   be   confessed    that   the   Baron    du    Guenic   was 


BEATRIX.  a 

wholly  illiterate — as  illiterate  as  a  peasant ;  he  could  read, 
write,  and  knew  a  little  of  arithmetic ;  he  understood  the 
art  of  war  and  heraldry  ;  but  he  had  not  read  three  books 
in  his  life  beside  his  prayer-book. 

His  dress,  a  not  unimportant  detail,  was  always  the  same ; 
it  consisted  of  heavy  shoes,  thick  woolen  stockings,  velvet 
breeches  of  a  greenish  hue,  a  cloth  vest,  and  a  coat  with  a 
high  collar,  on  which  hung  the  cross  of  Saint-Louis. 

Beautiful  peace  rested  on  this  countenance,  which,  for  a 
year  past,  frequent  slumber,  the  precursor  of  death,  seemed 
to  be  preparing  for  eternal  rest.  This  constant  sleepiness, 
increasing  day  by  day,  did  not  distress  his  wife,  nor  his  now 
blind  sister,  nor  his  friends,  whose  medical  knowledge  was 
not  great.  To  them  these  solemn  pauses  of  a  blameless 
but  weary  soul  were  naturally  accounted  for — the  Baron  had 
done  his  duty.     This  told  all. 

In  this  house  the  predominant  interest  centred  in  the 
fate  of  the  deposed  elder  branch.  The  future  of  the  exiled 
Bourbons  and  the  Catholic  religion,  and  the  influence  of 
the  new  politics  on  Brittany,  exclusively  absorbed  the  Baron's 
family.  No  other  interest  mingled  with  these  but  the  affec- 
tion they  all  felt  for  the  son  of  the  house,  Calyste,  the  heir 
and  only  hope  of  the  great  name  of  du  Guenic.  The  old 
Vend^en,  the  old  Chouan,  had  shown  a  sort  of  renewal  of 
his  youth  a  few  years  since,  to  give  his  son  the  habit  of  those 
athletic  exercises  that  befit  a  gentleman  who  may  be  called 
upon  to  fight  at  any  moment.  As  soon  as  Calyste  reached 
the  age  of  sixteen,  his  father  had  gone  out  with  him  in  the 
woods  and  marshes,  teaching  him  by  the  pleasures  of  sport 
the  rudiments  of  war,  preaching  by  example,  resisting  fatigue, 
steadfast  in  the  saddle,  sure  of  his  aim,  whatever  the  game 
might  be,  ground  game  or  birds,  reckless  in  overcoming  ob- 
stacles, inciting  his  son  to  face  danger  as  though  he  had  ten 
children  to  spare. 

Then,  when  the  Duchesse  de   Berry  came  to   France   to 


22  BEATRIX. 

conquer  the  kingdom,  the  father  carried  off  his  son  to  make 
him  act  on  the  family  motto.  The  Baron  set  out  in  the  night 
without  warning  his  wife,  who  might  perhaps  have  displayed 
her  emotion,  leading  his  only  child  under  fire  as  if  it  were  to 
a  festival,  and  followed  by  Gasselin,  his  only  vassal,  who  rode 
forth  gleefully.  The  three  men  of  the  house  were  away  for 
six  months,  without  sending  any  news  to  the  Baroness — who 
never  read  the  "  Quotidienne  "  without  quaking  over  every 
line — nor  to  her  old  sister-in-law,  heroically  upright,  whose 
brow  never  flinched  as  she  listened  to  the  paper.  So  the 
three  muskets  hanging  in  the  hall  had  seen  service  re- 
cently. The  Baron,  in  whose  opinion  this  call  to  arms  was 
unavailing,  had  left  the  field  before  the  fight  at  La  Penis- 
sidre,  otherwise  the  noble  race  of  Guenic  might  have  become 
extinct. 

When,  one  night  of  dreadful  weather,  the  father,  son,  and 
serving-man  had  reached  home  after  taking  leave  of  Madame, 
surprising  their  friends,  the  Baroness  and  old  Mademoiselle 
du  Gudnic — though  she,  by  a  gift  bestowed  on  all  blind 
people,  had  recognized  the  steps  of  three  men  in  the  little 
street — the  Baron  looked  around  on  the  circle  of  his  anxious 
friends  gathered  around  the  little  table  lighted  up  by  the 
antique  lamp,  and  merely  said,  in  a  quavering  voice,  while 
Gasselin  hung  up  the  muskets  and  swords  in  their  place,  these 
words  of  feudal  simplicity — 

"  Not  all  the  Barons  did  their  duty." 

Then  he  kissed  his  wife  and  sister,  sat  down  in  his  old  arm- 
chair, and  ordered  supper  for  his  son,  himself,  and  Gasselin. 
Gasselin,  having  screened  Calystewith  his  body,  had  received 
a  sabre  cut  on  his  shoulder ;  such  a  small  matter,  that  he  was 
scarcely  thanked  for  it. 

Neither  the  Baron  nor  his  guests  uttered  a  curse  or  a  word 
of  abuse  of  the  conquerors.  This  taciturnity  is  a  character- 
istically Breton  trait.  In  forty  years  no  one  had  ever  heard  a 
contemptuous  speech  from  the  Baron  as  to  his  adversaries. 


BEATRIX.  23 

They  could  but  do  their  business,  as  he  did  his  duty.     Such 
stern  silence  is  an  indication  of  immutable  determination. 

This  last  struggle,  the  flicker  of  exhausted  powers,  had 
resulted  in  the  weakness  under  which  the  Baron  was  now 
failing.  The  second  exile  of  the  Bourbons,  as  miraculously 
ousted  as  they  had  been  miraculously  restored,  plunged  him 
in  bitter  melancholy. 

At  about  six  in  the  evening,  on  the  day  when  the  scene 
opens,  the  Baron,  who,  according  to  old  custom,  had  done 
his  dinner  by  four  o'clock,  had  gone  to  sleep  while  listening 
to  the  reading  of  the  "  Quotidienne."  His  head  rested 
against  the  back  of  his  armchair  by  the  fireside,  at  the  garden 
end. 

The  Baroness,  sitting  on  one  of  the  old  chairs  in  front  of 
the  fire,  by  the  side  of  this  gnarled  trunk  of  an  ancient  tree, 
was  of  the  type  of  those  adorable  women  which  exist  nowhere 
but  in  England,  Scotland,  or  Ireland.  There  only  do  we 
find  girls  kneaded  with  milk,  golden-haired,  with  curls  twined 
by  angels'  fingers,  for  the  light  of  heaven  seems  to  ripple  over 
their  tendrils  with  every  air  that  fans  them.  Fanny  O'Brien 
was  one  of  those  sylphs,  strong  in  tenderness,  invincible  in 
misfortune,  as  sweet  as  the  music  of  her  voice,  as  pure  as  the 
blue  of  her  eyes,  elegantly  lovely  and  refined,  with  the  pretti- 
ness  and  the  exquisite  flesh — satin  to  the  touch  and  a  joy  to 
the  eye — that  neither  pencil  nor  pen  can  do  justice  to.  Beau- 
tiful still  at  forty-two,  many  a  man  would  have  been  happy  to 
marry  her  as  he  looked  at  the  charms  of  this  glorious,  richly 
toned  autumn,  full  of  flower  and  fruit,  and  renewed  by  dews 
from  heaven.  The  Baroness  held  the  newspaper  in  a  hand 
soft  with  dimples,  and  turned-up  finger-tips  with  squarely  cut 
nails  like  those  of  an  antique  statue.  She  leaned  back  in  her 
chair,  without  awkwardness  or  affectation,  her  feet  thrust  for- 
ward to  get  warm  ;  and  she  wore  a  black  velvet  dress,  for  the 
wind  had  turned  cold  these  last  few  days.    The  bodice,  fitting 


24  BEATRIX. 

tight  to  the  throat,  covered  shoulders  of  noble  outline  and  a 
bosom  which  had  suffered  no  disfigurement  from  having 
nursed  an  only  child.  Her  hair  fell  in  ringlets  on  each  side 
of  her  face,  close  to  her  cheeks,  in  the  English  fashion ;  a 
simple  twist  on  the  top  of  her  head  was  held  by  a  tortoise- 
shell  comb ;  and  the  mass,  instead  of  being  of  a  doubtful  hue, 
glittered  in  the  light  like  threads  of  brownish  gold.  She  had 
made  a  plait  of  the  loose  short  hairs  that  grow  low  down  and 
are  a  mark  of  fine  breeding.  This  tiny  tress,  lost  in  the  rest 
of  her  hair  that  was  combed  high  on  her  head,  allowed  the 
eye  to  note  with  pleasure  the  flowing  line  from  her  neck  to 
her  beautiful  shoulders.  This  little  detail  shows  the  care  she 
always  gave  to  her  toilet.  She  persisted  in  charming  the  old 
man's  eye.     What  a  delightful  and  touching  attention  ! 

When  you  see  a  woman  lavishing  in  her  home-life  the  care 
for  appearance  which  other  women  find  for  one  feeling  only, 
you  may  be  sure  that  she  is  a  noble  mother,  as  she  is  a  noble 
wife,  the  joy  and  flower  of  the  household;  she  understands 
her  duties  as  a  woman,  the  elegance  of  her  appearance  dwells 
in  her  soul  and  her  affections,  she  does  good  in  secret,  she 
knows  how  to  love  truly  without  ulterior  motives,  she  loves  her 
neighbor  as  she  loves  God,  for  himself.  And  it  really  seemed 
as  though  the  Virgin  in  paradise,  under  whose  protection  she 
lived,  had  rewarded  her  chaste  girlhood  and  saintly  woman- 
hood by  the  side  of  the  noble  old  man  by  throwing  over  her 
a  sort  of  glory  that  preserved  her  from  the  ravages  of  time. 

Plato  would  perhaps  have  honored  the  fading  of  her  beauty 
as  so  much  added  grace.  Her  skin,  once  so  white,  had  ac- 
quired those  warm  and  pearly  tones  that  painters  delight  in. 
Her  forehead,  broad  and  finely  moulded,  seemed  to  love  the 
light  that  played  on  it  with  sheeny  touches.  Her  eyes  of 
turquoise-blue  gleamed  with  wonderful  softness  under  light 
velvety  lashes.  The  drooping  lids  and  pathetic  temples  sug- 
gested some  unspeakable,  silent  melancholy ;  below  the  eyes 
her  cheeks  were  dead  white,  faintly  veined  with  blue  to  the 


BEATRIX.  25 

bridge  of  the  nose.  The  nose,  aquiline  and  thin,  had  a  touch 
of  royal  dignity,  a  reminder  of  her  noble  birth.  Her  lips, 
pure  and  delicately  cut,  were  graced  by  a  smile,  the  natural 
outcome  of  inexhaustible  good  humor.  Her  teeth  were  small 
and  white.  She  had  grown  a  little  stout,  but  her  shapely 
hips  and  slender  waist  were  not  disfigured  by  it ;  the  autumn 
of  her  beauty  displayed  still  some  bright  flowers  forgotten  by 
spring  and  the  warmer  glories  of  summer.  Her  finely  moulded 
arms,  her  smooth  lustrous  skin  had  gained  a  finer  texture; 
the  forms  had  filled  out.  And  her  open,  serene  countenance, 
with  its  faint  color,  the  purity  of  her  blue  eyes,  to  which  too 
rude  a  gaze  would  have  been  an  offense,  expressed  unchanging 
gentleness,  the  infinite  tenderness  of  the  angels. 

At  the  other  side  of  the  fireplace,  in  another  armchair,  sat 
the  old  sister  of  eighty,  in  every  particular  but  dress  the 
exact  image  of  her  brother ;  she  listened  to  the  paper  while 
knitting  stockings,  for  which  sight  is  not  needed.  Her  eyes 
were  darkened  by  cataract,  and  she  obstinately  refused  to  be 
operated  on,  in  spite  of  her  sister-in-law's  entreaties.  She 
alone  knew  the  secret  motive  of  her  determination ;  she  as- 
cribed it  to  lack  of  courage,  but  in  fact  she  did  not  choose 
that  twenty-five  louis  should  be  spent  on  her ;  there  would 
have  been  so  much  less  in  the  house.  Nevertheless,  she  would 
have  liked  to  see  her  brother  again.  These  two  old  people 
were  an  admirable  foil  to  the  Baroness'  beauty.  What  woman 
would  not  have  seemed  young  and  handsome  between  Mon- 
sieur du  Guenic  and  his  sister? 

Mademoiselle  Zephirine,  deprived  of  sight,  knew  nothing 
of  the  changes  that  her  eighty  years  had  wrought  in  her 
looks.  Her  pallid,  hollow  face,  to  which  the  fixity  of  her 
white  and  sightless  eyes  gave  a  look  of  death,  while  three  or 
four  projecting  teeth  added  an  almost  threatening  expression  ; 
in  which  the  deep  eye-sockets  were  circled  with  red  lines,  and 
a  few  manly  hairs,  long  since  white,  were  visible  on  the  chin 
and  lips — this  cold,  calm  face  was  framed  in  a  little  brown 


26  BEATRIX. 

cotton  hood  quilted  like  a  counterpane,  edged  with  a  cambric 
frill,  and  tied  under  her  chin  with  ribbons  that  were  never 
fresh.  She  wore  a  short  upper  skirt  of  stout  cloth  over  a 
quilted  petticoat,  a  perfect  mattress,  within  which  lurked 
double  louis  d'or  ;  and  she  had  pockets  sewn  to  a  waistband, 
which  she  took  off  at  night  and  put  on  in  the  morning  as  a 
garment.  Her  figure  was  wrapped  in  the  usual  jacket  bodice 
of  Breton  women,  made  of  cloth  like  the  skirt,  and  finished 
with  a  close  pleated  frill,  of  which  the  washing  formed  the 
only  subject  of  difference  between  her  and  the  Baroness ;  she 
insisted  on  changing  it  but  once  a  week.  Out  of  the  wadded 
sleeves  of  this  jacket  came  a  pair  of  withered  but  sinewy  arms, 
and  two  ever-busy  hands,  somewhat  red,  which  made  her  arms 
look  as  white  as  poplar  wood.  These  fingers,  claw-like  from 
the  contraction  induced  by  the  habit  of  knitting,  were  like  a 
stocking-machine  in  constant  motion ;  the  wonder  would  have 
been  to  see  them  at  rest.  Now  and  then  Mademoiselle  du 
Guenic  would  take  one  of  the  long  knitting-needles  darned 
into  the  bosom  of  her  dress,  and  push  it  in  under  her  hood 
among  her  white  hairs.  A  stranger  would  have  laughed  to 
see  how  calmly  she  stuck  it  in  again,  without  any  fear  of 
pricking  herself.  She  was  as  upright  as  a  steeple ;  her  colum- 
nar rigidity  might  be  regarded  as  one  of  those  old  women's 
vanities  which  prove  that  pride  is  a  passion  indispensable 
to  vitality.  She  had  a  bright  smile  ;  she,  too,  had  done  her 
duty. 

As  soon  as  Fanny  saw  that  the  Baron  was  asleep,  she  ceased 
reading.  A  sunbeam  shot  across  from  window  to  window, 
cutting  the  atmosphere  of  the  old  room  in  two  by  a  band  of 
gold,  and  casting  a  glory  on  the  almost  blackened  furniture. 
The  light  caught  the  carvings  of  the  cornice,  fluttered  over  the 
cabinets,  spread  a  shining  face  over  the  oak  table,  and  gave 
cheerfulness  to  this  softly  sombre  room,  just  as  Fanny's  voice 
brought  to  the  old  woman's  spirit  a  harmony  as  luminous  and 
gay  as  the  sunbeam.     Ere  long  the  rays  of  the  sun  assumed  a 


BE  A  TRIX.  27 

reddish  glow,  which  by  insensible  degrees  sank  to  the  melan- 
choly hues  of  dusk.  The  Baroness  fell  into  serious  thought, 
one  of  those  spells  of  perfect  silence  which  her  old  sister-in- 
law  had  noticed  during  a  fortnight  past,  trying  to  account  for 
them  without  questioning  the  Baroness  in  any  way ;  but  she 
was  studying  the  causes  of  this  absence  of  mind  as  only  blind 
people  can,  who  read  as  it  were  a  black  book  with  white 
letters,  while  every  sound  rings  through  their  soul  as  though 
it  were  an  oracular  echo.  The  old  blind  woman,  to  whom 
the  falling  darkness  now  meant  nothing,  went  on  knitting, 
and  the  silence  was  so  complete  that  the  tick  of  her  steel 
knitting-needles  could  be  heard. 

"  You  have  dropped  the  paper — but  you  are  not  asleep, 
sister,"  said  the  old  woman  sagaciously. 

It  was  now  dark ;  Mariotte  came  in  to  light  the  lamp  and 
placed  it  on  a  square  table  in  front  of  the  fire ;  then  she 
fetched  her  distaff,  her  hank  of  flax,  and  a  little  stool,  and  sat 
down  to  spin  in  the  window  recess  on  the  side  toward  the 
courtyard,  as  she  did  every  evening.  Gasselin  was  still  busy 
in  the  outbuildings,  attending  to  the  Baron's  horse  and  that 
of  Calyste,  seeing  that  all  was  right  in  the  stables,  and  giving 
the  two  fine  hounds  their  evening  meal.  The  glad  barking 
of  these  two  creatures  was  the  last  sound  that  roused  the 
echoes  lurking  in  the  dark  walls  of  the  house. 

These  two  horses  and  two  dogs  were  the  last  remains  of  the 
splendor  of  chivalry.  An  imaginative  man,  sitting  on  the 
outer  steps,  and  abandoning  himself  to  the  poetry  of  the 
images  still  living  in  this  dwelling,  might  have  been  startled 
at  hearing  the  dogs  and  the  tramping  hoofs  of  the  neighing 
steeds. 

Gasselin  was  one  of  the  short,  sturdy,  square-built  Breton 
race,  with  black  hair  and  tanned  faces,  silent,  slow,  as  stub- 
born as  mules,  but  always  going  on  the  road  marked  out  for 
them.  He  was  now  forty-two,  and  had  lived  in  the  house 
twenty-five  years.     Mademoiselle   had   engaged   Gasselin  as 


28  BE  A  TRTX. 

servant  when  he  was  fifteen,  on  hearing  of  the  Baron's  mar- 
riage and  probable  return.  This  henchman  considered  him- 
self a  member  of  the  family.  He  had  played  with  Calyste,  he 
loved  the  horses  and  dogs,  and  talked  to  them  and  petted 
them  as  though  they  were  his  own.  He  wore  a  short  jacket 
of  blue  linen  with  little  pockets  that  flapped  over  his  hips,  and 
a  vest  and  trousers  of  the  same  material,  in  all  seasons  alike, 
blue  stockings  and  hobnailed  shoes.  When  the  weather  was 
very  cold  or  wet  he  added  the  goatskin  with  the  hair  on  worn 
in  his  province. 

Mariotte,  who  was  also  past  forty,  was  as  a  woman  exactly 
what  Gasselin  was  as  a  man.  Never  did  a  better  pair  run  in 
harness ;  the  same  color,  the  same  figure,  the  same  small, 
sharp  black  eyes.  It  was  hard  to  imagine  why  Mariotte  and 
Gasselin  had  never  married ;  but  it  might  have  been  criminal ; 
they  almost  seemed  like  brother  and  sister.  Mariotte  had 
thirty  crowns  a  year  in  wages  and  Gasselin  a  hundred  livres ; 
but  not  for  a  thousand  francs  a  year  would  they  have  quitted 
the  house  of  the  Guenics.  They  were  both  under  the  juris- 
diction of  old  mademoiselle,  who  had  been  in  the  habit  of 
managing  the  house  from  the  time  of  the  war  in  la  Vendee 
till  her  brother's  return.  Hence  she  had  been  greatly  upset 
on  hearing  that  her  brother  was  bringing  home  a  mistress  of 
the  house,  supposing  that  she  would  have  to  lay  down  the 
domestic  sceptre  in  favor  of  the  Baronne  du  Guenic,  whose 
first  subject  she  would  then  be. 

Mademoiselle  Zephirine  had  been  very  agreeably  surprised 
on  finding  that  Miss  Fanny  O'Brien  was  born  to  a  lofty  posi- 
tion, a  girl  who  detested  the  minute  cares  of  housekeeping, 
and  who,  like  all  noble  souls,  would  have  preferred  dry  bread 
from  the  bakers  to  any  food  she  had  to  prepare  herself;  capa- 
ble of  fulfilling  all  the  duties  of  motherhood,  strong  to  endure 
every  necessary  privation,  but  without  energy  for  common- 
place industry.  When  the  Baron,  in  the  name  of  his  shrinking 
wife,  begged  his  sister  to  rule  the  house,  the  old  maid  em- 


BEATRIX.  29 

braced  the  Baroness  as  her  sister ;  she  made  a  daughter  of 
her,  she  adored  her,  happy  in  being  allowed  to  continue  her 
care  of  governing  the  house,  and  keeping  it  with  incredible 
rigor  and  most  economical  habits,  which  she  relaxed  only  on 
great  occasions,  such  as  her  sister-in-law's  confinement  and 
feeding,  and  everything  that  could  affect  Calyste,  the  wor- 
shiped son  of  the  house. 

Though  the  two  servants  were  accustomed  to  this  strict 
rule,  and  needed  no  telling  ;  though  they  took  more  care  of 
their  master's  interests  than  of  their  own,  still  Mademoiselle 
Zephirine  had  an  eye  on  everything.  Her  attention  having 
nothing  to  divert  it.  She  was  the  woman  to  know  without  going 
to  look  how  large  the  pile  of  walnuts  should  be  in  the  loft, 
and  how  much  corn  was  left  in  the  stable-bin  without  plunging 
her  sinewy  arm  into  its  depths.  She  wore  a  boatswain's 
whistle  attached  by  a  string  to  her  waistband,  and  called 
Mariotte  by  whistling  once  and  Gasselin  by  whistling  twice. 
Gasselin's  chief  happiness  consisted  in  cultivating  the  garden 
and  raising  fine  fruit  and  good  vegetables.  He  had  so  little 
to  do  that  but  for  his  gardening  he  would  have  been  bored  to 
death.  When  he  had  groomed  the  horses  in  the  morning  he 
polished  the  floors  and  cleaned  the  two  first-floor  rooms ;  he 
had  little  to  do  for  his  masters.  So  in  the  garden  you  could 
not  have  found  a  weed  or  a  noxious  insect.  Sometimes  Gas- 
selin might  be  seen  standing  motionless  and  bareheaded  in 
the  sunshine,  watching  for  a  field-rat  or  the  dreadful  larvae  of 
the  cockchafer  ;  then  he  would  rush  in  with  a  child's  glee  to 
show  the  master  the  creature  he  had  spent  a  week  in  catching. 
On  fast  days  it  was  his  delight  to  go  to  le  Croisic  to  buy  fish, 
cheaper  there  than  at  Gu^rande. 

Never  was  there  a  family  more  united,  on  better  terms, 
or  more  inseparable,  than  this  pious  and  noble  household. 
Masters  and  servants  seemed  to  have  been  made  for  each 
other.  In  five-and-twenty  years  there  had  never  been  a  trouble 
or  a  discord.     The  only  sorrows  they  had  known  were  the 


30  BE  A  TRIX. 

child's  little  ailments,  and  the  only  anxieties  had  come  of  the 
events  of  1814,  and  again  of  1830.  If  the  same  things  were 
invariably  done  at  the  same  hours,  if  the  food  varied  only 
with  the  changes  of  the  seasons,  this  monotony,  like  that  of 
nature,  with  its  alternation  of  cloud,  rain,  and  sunshine,  was 
made  endurable  by  the  affection  that  filled  every  heart,  and 
was  all  'the  more  helpful  and  beneficent  because  it  was  the 
outcome  of  natural  laws. 

When  twilight  was  ended,  Gasselin  came  into  the  room 
and  respectfully  inquired  whether  he  were  wanted. 

"After  prayers  you  can  go  out  or  go  to  bed,"  said  the 
Baron,  rousing  himself,  "unless  madame  or  my  sister " 

The  two  ladies  nodded  agreement.  Gasselin,  seeing  them 
all  rise  to  kneel  on  their  chairs,  fell  on  his  knees.  Mariotte 
knelt  on  her  stool.  Old  Mademoiselle  du  Guenic  said  prayers 
aloud. 

As  she  finished,  a  knock  was  heard  at  the  outer  gate.  Gas- 
selin went  to  open  it. 

"  It  is  Monsieur  le  Cure,  no  doubt ;  he  is  almost  always 
the  first,"  remarked  Mariotte. 

And,  in  fact,  they  all  recognized  the  footstep  of  the  parish 
priest  on  the  resonant  steps  to  the  balcony  entrance.  The 
cur6  bowed  respectfully  to  the  three,  addressing  the  Baron 
and  the  two  ladies  with  the  unctuous  civility  that  a  priest  has 
at  his  command.  In  reply  to  an  absent-minded  "Good-even- 
ing" from  the  mistress  of  the  house,  he  gave  her  a  look  of 
priestly  scrutiny. 

"  Are  you  uneasy,  madame,  or  unwell?"  he  asked. 

"  Thank  you,  no  !  "  said  she. 

Monsieur  Grimont,  a  man  of  about  fifty,  of  middle  height, 
wrapped  in  his  gown,  beneath  which  a  pair  of  thick  shoes 
with  silver  buckles  were  visible,  showed  above  his  bands  a  fat 
face,  on  the  whole  fair,  but  sallow.  His  hands  were  plump. 
His  abbot-like  countenance  had  something  of  the  Dutch 
burgomaster  in  its  calm  complexion  and  the  tones  of  the  flesh, 


BE  A  TRIX.  ai 

and  something,  too,  of  the  Breton  peasant  in  its  straight  black 
hair  and  sparkling  black  eyes,  which  nevertheless  were  under 
the  control  of  priestly  decorum.  His  cheerfulness,  like  that 
of  all  people  whose  conscience  is  calm  and  pure,  consented  to 
jest.  There  was  nothing  anxious  or  forbidding  in  his  look, 
as  in  that  of  those  unhappy  priests  whose  maintenance  or 
L  power  is  disputed  by  their  parishioners,  and  who  instead  of 
w  being,  as  Napoleon  so  grandly  said,  the  moral  leaders  of  the 
people  and  natural  justices  of  the  peace,  are  regarded  as  ene- 
mies. The  most  unbelieving  of  strangers  who  should  see 
Monsieur  Grimont  walking  through  Gu^rande  would  have 
recognized  him  as  the  sovereign  of  the  Catholic  town ;  but 
this  sovereign  abdicated  his  spiritual  rule  before  the  feudal 
supremacy  of  the  du  Guenic  family.  In  this  drawing-room 
he  was  as  a  chaplain  in  the  hall  of  his  liege.  In  church,  as 
he  gave  the  blessing,  his  hand  always  turned  first  toward  the 
chapel  of  the  house,  where  their  hand  and  sword  and  their 
motto  were  carved  on  the  keystone  of  the  vaulting. 

"I  thought  that  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel  was  here,"  said 
the  cure,  seating  himself,  as  he  kissed  the  Baroness'  hand. 
"  She  is  losing  her  good  habits.  Is  the  fashion  for  dissipation 
spreading?  For  I  observe  that  Monsieur  le  Chevalier  is  at 
les  Touches  again  this  evening." 

"  Say  nothing  of  his  visits  there  before  Mademoiselle  de 
Pen-Hoel,"  exclaimed  the  old  lady  in  an  undertone. 

"Ah!  mademoiselle,"  Mariotte  put  in,  "how  can  you 
keep  the  whole  town  from  talking?" 

"  And  what  do  they  say  ?  "  asked  the  Baroness. 

"All  the  girls  and  the  old  gossips — everybody,  in  short — 
is  saying  that  he  is  in  love  with  Mademoiselle  des  Touches." 

"A  young  fellow  so  handsome  as  Calyste  is  only  following 
his  calling  by  making  himself  loved,"  said  the  Baron. 

"Here  is  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel,"  said  Mariotte. 

The  gravel  in  the  courtyard  was,  in  fact,  heard  to  crunch 

i under  this  lady's  deliberate  steps,  heralded  by  a  lad  bearing  a 
I 


S2  BEATRIX. 

lantern.  On  seeing  this  retainer,  Mariotte  transferred  her 
stool  and  distaff  to  the  large  hall,  where  she  could  chat  with 
him  by  the  light  of  the  rosin  candle  that  burned  at  the  cost 
of  the  rich  and  stingy  old  maid,  thus  saving  her  master's. 

Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel  was  a  slight,  thin  woman,  as 
yellow  as  the  parchment  of  an  archive,  and  wrinkled  like  a 
lake  swept  by  the  wind,  with  gray  eyes,  large  prominent  teeth, 
and  hands  like  a  man's;  she  was  short,  certainly  crooked, 
and  perhaps  even  hump-backed ;  but  no  one  had  ever  been 
curious  to  study  her  perfections  or  imperfections.  Dressed  in 
the  same  style  as  Mademoiselle  du  Guenic,  she  made  quite  a 
commotion  in  a  huge  mass  of  petticoats  and  frills  when  she 
tried  to  find  one  of  the  two  openings  in  her  gown  by  which 
she  got  at  her  pockets ;  the  strangest  clinking  of  keys  and 
money  was  then  heard  from  beneath  these  skirts.  All  the 
iron  paraphernalia  of  a  good  housewife  was  to  be  found  on 
one  side,  and  on  the  other  her  silver  snuff-box,  her  thimble, 
her  knitting,  and  other  jangling  objects. 

Instead  of  the  quilted  hood  worn  by  Mademoiselle  du 
Gu6nic,  she  had  a  green  bonnet,  which  she  no  doubt  wore 
when  she  went  to  look  at  her  melons ;  like  them,  it  has  faded 
from  green  to  yellow,  and  as  for  its  shape,  fashion  has  lately 
revived  it  in  Paris  under  the  name  of  Bibi.  This  bonnet  was 
made  under  her  own  eye  by  her  nieces,  of  green  sarsnet  pur- 
chased at  Gu6rande,  on  a  shape  she  bought  new  every  five 
years  at  Nantes — for  she  allowed  it  the  life  of  an  administra- 
tion. Her  nieces  also  made  her  gowns,  cut  by  an  immemorial 
pattern.  The  old  maid  still  used  the  crutch-handled  cane 
which  ladies  carried  at  the  beginning  of  the  reign  of  Marie- 
Antoinette.  She  was  of  the  first  nobility  of  Brittany.  On 
her  shield  figured  the  ermines  of  the  ancient  duchy ;  the  illus- 
trious Breton  house  of  Pen-Hoel  ended  in  her  and  her 
sister. 

This  younger  sister  had  married  a  Kergarouet,  who,  in 
spite  of  the  disapprobation  of  the  neighbors,  had  added  the 


BEATRIX.  33 

name  of  Pen-Hoel  to  his  own,  and  called  himself  the  Vi- 
comte  de  Kergarouet-Pen-Hocl. 

"  Heaven  has  punished  him,"  the  old  maid  would  say. 
"  He  has  only  daughters,  and  the  name  of  Kergarouet-Pen- 
Hoel  will  become  extinct." 

Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel  enjoyed  an  income  of  about 
seven  thousand  francs  from  land.  For  thirty-six  years,  since 
she  had  come  of  age,  she  herself  had  managed  her  estates ; 
she  rode  out  to  inspect  them,  and  on  every  point  displayed 
the  firmness  of  will  characteristic  of  deformed  persons.  Her 
avarice  was  the  amazement  of  all  for  ten  leagues  around,  but 
viewed  with  no  disapprobation.  She  kept  one  woman  ser- 
vant and  this  lad  ;  all  her  expenditure,  not  inclusive  of  taxes, 
did  not  come  to  more  than  a  thousand  francs  a  year.  Hence 
she  was  the  object  of  the  most  flattering  attentions  from  the 
Kergarouet-Pen-Hoels,  who  spent  the  winter  at  Nantes  and 
the  summer  at  their  country-house  on  the  banks  of  the  Loire 
just  below  Indret.  It  was  known  that  she  intended  to  leave 
her  fortune  and  her  savings  to  that  one  of  her  nieces  whom 
she  might  prefer.  Every  three  months  one  of  the  four 
Demoiselles  de  Kergarouet  came  to  spend  a  few  days  with 
her. 

Jacqueline  de  Pen-Hoel,  a  great  friend  of  Z6phirine  de 
Guenic's,  and  brought  up  in  the  faith  and  fear  of  the  Breton 
dignity  of  the  Guenics,  had  conceived  a  plan,  since  Calyste's 
birth,  of  securing  her  wealth  to  this  youth  by  getting  him  to 
marry  one  of  these  nieces,  to  be  bestowed  on  him  by  the 
Vicomtesse  de  Kergarouet-Pen-Hoel.  She  proposed  to  re- 
purchase some  of  the  best  land  for  the  Guenics  by  paying  off 
the  farmers'  loans.  When  avarice  has  an  end  in  view  it 
ceases  to  be  a  vice ;  it  is  the  instrument  of  virtue  ;  its  stern 
privations  become  a  constant  sacrifice  ;  in  short,  it  has  great- 
ness of  purpose  concealed  beneath  its  meanness.  Zephirine 
was  perhaps  in  Jacqueline's  secret.  Perhaps,  too,  the  Bar- 
oness, whose  whole  intelligence  was  absorbed  in  love  for  her 
3 


34  BEATRIX. 

son  and  tender  care  for  his  father,  may  have  guessed  some- 
thing when  she  saw  with  what  pertinacious  perseverance 
Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel  would  bring  with  her,  day  after 
day,'  Charlotte  de  Kergarouet,  her  favorite  niece,  now  fifteen. 
The  priest,  Monsieur  Grimont,  was  undoubtedly  in  her  con- 
fidence ;  he  helped  the  old  lady  to  invest  her  money  well. 
But  if  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel  had  had  three  hundred 
thousand  francs  in  gold — the  sum  at  which  her  savings  were 
commonly  estimated ;  if  she  had  had  ten  times  more  land 
than  she  owned,  the  du  Guenics  would  never  have  allowed 
themselves  to  pay  her  such  attention  as  might  lead  the  old 
maid  to  fancy  that  they  were  thinking  of  her  fortune.  With 
an  admirable  instinct  of  truly  Breton  pride,  Jacqueline  de 
Pen-Hoel,  gladly  accepting  the  supremacy  assumed  by  her  old 
friends  Zephirine  and  the  du  Guenics,  always  expressed  her- 
self honored  by  a  visit  when  the  descendant  of  Irish  kings 
and  Zephirine  condescended  to  call  on  her.  She  went  so  far 
as  to  conceal  with  care  the  little  extravagance  which  she 
winked  at  every  evening  by  permitting  her  boy  to  burn  an 
oribus  at  the  du  Guenics* — the  gingerbread-colored  candle 
which  is  commonly  used  in  various  districts  in  the  West. 
This  rich  old  maid  was  indeed  aristocracy,  pride,  and  dignity 
personified. 

At  the  moment  when  the  reader  is  studying  her  portrait,  an 
indiscretion  on  the  part  of  the  cur6  had  betrayed  the  fact 
that,  on  the  evening  when  the  old  Baron,  the  young  cheva- 
lier, and  Gasselin  stole  away  armed  with  swords  and  fowling- 
pieces  to  join  Madame  in  la  Vendee — to  Fanny's  extreme 
terror  and  to  the  great  joy  of  the  Bretons — Mademoiselle  de 
Pen-Hoel  had  placed  in  the  Baron's  hands  a  sum  of  ten  thou- 
sand francs  in  gold,  an  immense  sacrifice,  supplemented  by 
ten  thousand  francs  more,  the  fruits  of  a  tithe  collected  by 
the  cure,  which  the  old  partisan  was  requested  to  lay  at  the 
feet  of  Henri  V.'s  mother,  in  the  name  of  the  Pen-Hoels  and 
of  the  parish  of  Guerande. 


BEATRIX.  86 

Meanwhile  she  treated  Calyste  with  the  airs  of  a  woman 
who  believes  she  is  in  her  rights ;  her  schemes  justified  her  in 
keeping  an  eye  on  him  ;  not  that  she  was  strait-laced  in  her 
ideas  as  to  questions  of  gallantry — she  had  all  the  indulgence 
of  a  woman  of  the  old  regime ;  but  she  had  a  horror  of  Rev- 
olutionary manners.  Calyste,  who  might  have  risen  in  her 
esteem  by  intrigues  with  Breton  women,  would  have  fallen 
immensely  if  he  had  taken  up  what  she  called  the  new-fangled 
ways.  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel,  who  would  have  unearthed 
a  sum  of  money  to  pay  off  a  girl  he  had  seduced,  would  have 
regarded  Calyste  as  a  reckless  spendthrift  if  she  had  seen  him 
driving  a  tilbury,  or  heard  him  talk  of  setting  out  for  Paris. 
And  if  she  had  found  him  reading  some  impious  review  or 
newspaper,  it  is  impossible  to  imagine  what  she  might  have 
done.  To  her,  new  notions  meant  the  rotation  of  crops, 
sheer  ruin  under  the  guise  of  improvements  and  methods, 
lands  ultimately  mortgaged  as  a  result  of  experiments.  To 
her,  thrift  was  the  real  way  to  make  a  fortune ;  good  manage- 
ment consisted  in  filling  her  outhouses  with  buckwheat,  rye, 
and  hemp ;  at  waiting  for  prices  to  rise  at  the  risk  of  being 
known  to  force  the  market,  and  in  resolutely  hoarding  her 
corn-sacks.  As  it  happened,  strangely  enough,  she  had  often 
met  with  good  bargains  that  confirmed  her  in  her  principles. 
She  was  thought  cunning,  but  she  was  not  really  clever ;  she 
had  only  the  methodical  habits  of  a  Dutchwoman,  the  caution 
of  a  cat,  the  pertinacity  of  a  priest ;  and  this,  in  a  land  of 
routine,  was  as  good  as  the  deepest  perspicacity. 

"Shall  we  see  Monsieur  du  Halga  this  evening?"  asked 
Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel,  taking  off  her  knitted  worsted 
mittens  after  exchanging  the  usual  civilities. 

"  Yes,  mademoiselle,  I  saw  him  airing  his  dog  in  the  mall," 
replied  the  cure. 

"Then  our  mouche  "fixV^  be  lively  this  evening,"  said  she. 
"  We  were  but  four  last  night." 

On  hearing  the  word  mouche,  the  priest  rose  and  brought 


36  BE  A  TRIX. 

out  of  a  drawer  of  one  of  the  cabinets  a  small  round  basket 
of  fine  willow,  some  ivory  counters  as  yellow  as  Turkish 
tobacco,  from  twenty  years'  service,  and  a  pack  of  cards  as 
greasy  as  those  of-  the  custom-house  officers  of  Saint-Nazaire, 
who  only  have  a  new  pack  once  a  fortnight.  The  abbe  him- 
self sorted  out  the  proper  number  of  counters  for  each  player, 
and  put  the  basket  by  the  lamp  in  the  middle  of  the  table, 
with  childish  eagerness  and  the  manner  of  a  man  accustomed 
to  fulfill  this  little  task.  A  loud  rap  in  military  style  presently 
echoed  through  the  silent  depths  of  the  old  house.  Made- 
moiselle de  Pen-Hoel's  little  servant  went  solemnly  to  open 
the  gate.  Before  long  the  tall,  lean  figure  of  the  Chevalier 
du  Halga,  formerly  flag-captain  under  Admiral  de  Kergarouet, 
was  seen,  carefully  dressed  to  suit  the  season,  a  black  object 
in  the  dusk  that  still  prevailed  outside. 

"  Come  in,  chevalier,"  cried  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel. 
**  The  altar  is  prepared  !  "  said  the  priest. 
Du  Halga,  whose  health  was  poor,  wore  flannel  for  the 
rheumatism,  a  black  silk  cap  to  protect  his  head  against  the 
fog,  and  a  spencer  to  guard  his  precious  chest  from  the  sud- 
den blasts  of  wind  that  refresh  the  atmosphere  of  Guerande. 
He  always  went  about  armed  with  a  rattan  to  drive  off"  dogs 
when  they  tried  to  make  inopportune  love  to  his  own,  which  was 
a  lady.  This  man,  as  minutely  particular  as  any  fine  lady,  put 
out  by  the  smallest  obstacles,  speaking  low  to  spare  the  voice 
remaining  to  him,  had  been  in  his  day  one  of  the  bravest  and 
most  capable  officers  of  the  King's  navy.  He  had  been  hon- 
ored with  the  confidence  of  the  Bailli  de  Suff"ren  and  the 
Comte  de  Portendu^re's  friendship.  His  valor,  as  captain  of 
Admiral  de  Kergarouet's  flag-ship,  was  scored  in  legible  char- 
acters on  his  face,  seamed  with  scars.  No  one,  on  looking  at 
him,  could  have  recognized  the  voice  that  had  roared  down 
the  storm,  the  eye  that  had  swept  the  horizon,  the  indomitable 
courage  of  a  Breton  seaman.  He  did  not  smoke,  he  never 
swore ;  he  was  as  gentle  and  quiet  as  a  girl,  and  devoted  him- 


BEATRIX.  37 

self  to  his  dog  Thisbe  and  her  various  little  whims  with  the 
absorption  of  an  old  woman.  He  gave  every  one  a  high 
idea  of  his  departed  gallantry.  He  never  spoke  of  the  startling 
acts  which  had  amazed  the  Comte  d'Estaing. 

Though  he  stooped  like  a  pensioner  and  walked  as  though 
he  feared  to  tread  on  eggs  at  every  step,  though  he  complained 
of  a  cool  breeze,  of  a  scorching  sun,  of  a  damp  fog,  he  dis- 
played fine  white  teeth  set  in  red  gums,  which  were  reassuring 
as  to  his  health ;  and,  indeed,  his  complaint  must  have  been 
an  expensive  one,  for  it  consisted  in  eating  four  meals  a  day 
of  monastic  abundance.  His  frame,  like  the  Baron's,  was 
large-boned  and  indestructibly  strong,  covered  with  parch- 
ment stretched  tightly  over  the  bones,  like  the  coat  of  an  Arab 
horse  that  shines  in  the  sun  over  its  sinews.  His  complexion 
had  preserved  the  tanned  hue  it  had  acquired  in  his  voyages 
to  India,  but  he  had  brought  back  no  ideas  and  no  reminis- 
cences. He  had  emigrated  ;  he  had  lost  all  his  fortune ;  then 
he  had  recovered  the  cross  of  Saint-Louis  and  a  pension  of 
two  thousand  francs,  legitimately  earned  by  his  services,  and 
paid  out  of  the  fund  for  naval  pensions.  The  harmless  hypo- 
chondria that  led  him  to  invent  a  thousand  imaginary  ailments 
was  easily  accounted  for  by  his  sufferings  during  the  emigra- 
tion. He  had  served  in  the  Russian  navy  till  the  day  when 
the  Emperor  Alexander  wanted  him  to  serve  against  France  ; 
he  then  retired  and  went  to  live  at  Odessa,  near  the  Due  de 
Richelieu,  with  whom  he  came  home,  and  who  procured  the 
payment  of  the  pension  due  to  this  noble  wreck  of  the  old 
Breton  navy. 

At  the  death  of  Louis  XVIH.  he  came  home  to  Gu6rande 
and  was  chosen  mayor  of  the  town.  The  cur^,  the  chevalier, 
and  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel  had  been  for  fifteen  years  in 
the  habit  of  spending  their  evenings  at  the  Hotel  du  Guenic, 
whither  also  came  a  few  persons  of  good  family  from  the  town 
and  immediate  neighborhood.  It  is  easy  to  see  that  the 
Guenic  family  were  the  leaders  of  this  little  Faubourg  Saint- 


38  BEATRIX. 

Germain  of  the  district,  into  which  no  official  was  admitted 
who  had  been  appointed  to  his  post  by  the  new  Government. 
For  six  years  past  the  curd  invariably  coughed  at  the  critical 
words  oi  Domine,  salvumfac  regent.  Politics  always  stuck  at 
that  point  in  Guerande. 

Mouche  (a  sort  of  loo)  is  a  game  played  with  five  cards  in 
each  hand  and  a  turn-up.  The  turned-up  card  decides  the 
trumps.  At  every  fresh  deal  each  player  is  at  liberty  to  play 
or  to  retire.  If  he  throws  away  his  hand,  he  loses  only  his 
deposit ;  for  as  long  as  no  fines  have  been  paid  into  the  pool, 
each  player  must  contribute  to  it.  Those  who  play  must 
make  a  trick,  paid  for  in  proportion  to  the  contents  of  the 
pool;  if  there  are  five  sous  in  the  trick,  he  pays  one  sou. 
The  player  who  fails  to  pay  is  looed;  he  then  owes  as  much  as 
the  pool  contains,  which  increases  it  for  the  following  deal. 
The  fines  due  are  written  down  ;  they  are  added  to  the  pools 
one  after  another  in  diminishing  order,  the  heaviest  before 
the  lesser  sums.  Those  who  decline  to  play  show  their  cards 
during  the  play,  but  they  count  for  nothing.  The  players 
may  discard  and  draw  from  the  pack,  as  at  icarii,  in  order  of 
seniority.  Each  player  may  change  as  many  cards  as  he  likes, 
so  the  eldest  and  the  second  hands  may  use  up  the  pack  be- 
tween them.  The  turned-up  card  belongs  to  the  dealer,  who 
is  the  youngest  hand ;  he  has  a  right  to  exchange  it  for  any 
card  in  his  own  hand.  One  terrible  card  takes  all  others,  and 
is  known  as  mistigris;  mistigris  is  the  knave  of  clubs.  This 
game,  though  so  excessively  simple,  is  not  devoid  of  interest. 
The  covetousness  natural  to  man  finds  scope  in  it,  as  well  as 
some  diplomatic  finessing  and  play  of  expression. 

At  the  Hotel  du  Gu6nic  each  player  purchased  twenty 
counters  for  five  sous,  by  which  the  stake  amounted  to  five 
liards  each  deal,  an  important  sum  in  the  eyes  of  these  gam- 
blers. With  very  great  luck  a  player  might  win  fifty  sous, 
more  than  any  one  in  Gu6rande  spent  in  a  day.    And  Made- 


BEATRIX.  3& 

moiselle  de  Pen-Hoel  came  to  this  game — of  which  the  sim- 
plicity is  unsurpassed  in  the  nomenclature  of  the  Academy, 
unless  by  that  of  Beggar  my  Neighbor — with  an  eagerness  as 
great  as  that  of  a  sportsman  at  a  great  hunting  party.  Made- 
moiselle Zephirine,  who  was  the  Baroness'  partner,  attached 
no  less  importance  to  the  game  of  mouche.  To  risk  a  Hard*  for 
the  chance  of  winning  five,  deal  after  deal,  constituted  a 
serious  financial  speculation  to  the  thrifty  old  woman,  and  she 
threw  herself  into  it  with  as  much  moral  energy  as  the  greed- 
iest speculator  puts  into  gambling  on  the  Bourse  for  the  rise 
and  fall  of  shares. 

By  a  diplomatic  convention,  dating  from  September,  1825, 
after  a  certain  evening  when  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel  had 
lost  thirty-seven  sous,  the  game  was  ended  as  soon  as  any  one 
expressed  a  wish  to  that  effect  after  losing  ten  sous.  Polite- 
ness would  not  allow  of  a  player  being  put  to  the  little  dis- 
comfort of  looking  on  at  the  game  without  taking  part  in  it. 
But  every  passion  has  its  Jesuitical  side.  The  Chevalier  du 
Halga  and  the  Baron,  two  old  politicians,  had  found  a  way  of 
evading  the  act.  When  all  the  players  were  equally  eager  to 
prolong  an  exciting  game,  the  brave  chevalier,  one  of  those 
bachelors  who  are  prodigal  and  rich  by  the  expenses  they 
save,  always  offered  to  lend  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel  or 
Mademoiselle  Zephirine  ten  counters  when  either  of  them  had 
lost  her  five  sous,  on  the  understanding  that  she  should  repay 
them  if  she  should  win.  An  old  bachelor  might  allow  him- 
self such  an  act  of  gallantry  to  the  unmarried  ladies.  The 
Baron  also  would  offer  the  old  maids  ten  counters,  under  pre- 
tense of  not  stopping  the  game.  The  avaricious  old  women 
always  accepted,  not  without  some  pressing,  after  the  usage 
and  custom  of  old  maids.  But  to  allow  themselves  such  a 
y)iece  of  extravagance  the  Baron  and  the  chevalier  must  first 
have  won,  otherwise  the  offer  bore  the  character  of  an  affront. 

This  game  was  in  its  glory  when  a  young  Mademoiselle  de 
*  A  liard  was  the  fourth  of  a  sou. 


40  BEATRIX. 

Kergarouet  was  on  a  visit  to  her  aunt — Kergarouet  only,  for 
the  family  had  never  succeeded  in  getting  itself  called  Kerga- 
rouSt-Pen-Hocl  by  anybody  here,  not  even  by  the  servants, 
who  had  indeed  peremptory  orders  on  this  point.  The  aunt 
spoke  of  the  mouche  parties  at  the  Gunnies'  as  a  great  treat.  The 
girl  was  enjoined  to  make  herself  agreeable — an  easy  matter 
enough  when  she  saw  the  handsome  Calyste,  on  whom  the 
four  young  ladies  all  doted.  These  damsels,  brought  up  in 
the  midst  of  modern  civilization,  thought  little  of  five  sous, 
and  paid  fine  after  fine.  Then  fines  would  be  scored  up  to  a 
total  sometimes  of  five  francs,  on  a  scale  ranging  from  two 
sous  and  a  half  up  to  ten  sous.  These  were  evenings  of  intense 
excitement  to  the  old  blind  woman.  The  tricks  were  called 
mains  (or  hands)  at  Gu^rande.  The  Baroness  would  press  her 
foot  on  her  sister-in-law's  as  many  times  as  she  had,  as  she 
believed,  tricks  in  her  hand.  The  question  of  play  or  no  play 
on  occasions  when  the  pool  was  full  led  to  secret  struggles  in 
which  covetousness  contended  with  alarms.  The  players  would 
ask  each  other,  "Are  you  coming  in  ?  "  with  feelings  of  envy 
of  those  who  had  good  enough  cards  to  tempt  fate  and  spasms 
of  despair  when  they  were  forced  to  retire. 

If  Charlotte  de  Kergarouet,  who  was  commonly  thought 
foolhardy,  was  lucky  in  her  daring  when  her  aunt  had  won 
nothing,  she  was  treated  with  coldness  when  they  got  home, 
and  had  a  little  lecture  :  "  She  was  too  decided  and  forward ; 
a  young  girl  ought  not  to  challenge  persons  older  than  her- 
self; she  had  an  overbold  manner  of  seizing  the  pool  or  de- 
claring to  play  ;  a  young  person  should  show  more  reserve  and 
modesty  in  her  manners ;  it  was  not  seemly  to  laugh  at  the 
misfortunes  of  others,"  and  so  forth. 

Then  perennial  jests,  repeated  a  thousand  times  a  year,  but 
always  fresh,  turned  on  the  carriage  of  the  basket  when  the 
pool  overfilled  it.  They  must  get  oxen  to  draw  it,  elephants, 
horses,  asses,  dogs.  And  at  the  end  of  twenty  years  no  one 
noticed  the  staleness  of  the  joke  ;  it  always  provoked  the  same 


BEATRIX.  41 

smile.  It  was  the  same  thing  with  the  remarks  caused  by  the 
annoyance  of  seeing  a  pool  taken  from  those  who  had  helped 
to  fill  it  and  got  nothing  out.  The  cards  were  dealt  with 
automatic  slowness.  They  talked  in  chest  tones.  And  these 
respectable  and  high-born  personages  were  so  delightfully 
mean  as  to  suspect  each  other's  play.  Mademoiselle  de  Pen- 
Hoel  almost  always  accused  the  cure  of  cheating  when  he  won 
a  pool. 

**  But  what  is  so  odd,"  the  cur6  would  say,  **  is  that  I  never 
cheat  when  I  am  fined." 

No  one  laid  down  a  card  without  profound  meditation, 
without  keen  scrutiny,  and  more  or  less  astute  hints,  inge- 
nious and  searching  remarks.  The  deals  were  interrupted, 
you  may  be  sure,  by  gossip  as  to  what  was  going  on  in  the 
town,  or  discussions  on  politics.  Frequently  the  players 
would  pause  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  their  cards  held  in  a 
fan  against  their  chest,  absorbed  in  talk.  Then,  if  after  such 
an  interruption  a  counter  was  short  in  the  pool,  everybody 
was  certain  that  his  or  her  counter  was  not  missing  ;  and  gen- 
erally it  was  the  chevalier  who  made  up  the  loss,  under  general 
accusations  of  thinking  of  nothing  but  the  singing  in  his  ears, 
his  headache,  or  his  fads,  and  of  forgetting  to  put  in.  As 
soon  as  he  had  paid  up  a  counter,  old  Z6phirine  or  the  cun- 
ning hunchback  was  seized  with  remorse  ;  they  then  fancied 
that  perhaps  the  fault  was  theirs ;  they  thought,  they  doubted  ; 
but,  after  all,  the  chevalier  could  afford  the  little  loss  !  The 
Baron  often  quite  forgot  what  he  was  about  when  the  misfor- 
tunes of  the  royal  family  came  under  discussion. 

Sometimes  the  game  resulted  in  a  way  that  was  invariably  a 
surprise  to  the  players,  who  each  counted  on  being  the  winner. 
After  a  certain  number  of  rounds  each  had  won  back  his 
counters  and  went  away,  the  hour  being  late,  without  loss  or 
profit,  but  not  without  excitement.  On  these  depressing 
evenings  the  mouche  was  abused  ;  it  had  not  been  interesting; 
the  players  accused  the  game,  as  negroes  beat  the  reflection  of 


42  BEATRIX. 

the  moon  in  water  when  the  weather  is  bad.     The  evening 
had  been  dull ;  they  had  toiled  so  hard  for  so  little. 

When,  on  their  first  visit,  the  Vicomte  de  Kergarouet  and  his 
wife  spoke  of  whist  and  boston  as  games  more  interesting  than 
mouche,  and  were  encouraged  to  teach  them  by  the  Baroness, 
who  was  bored  to  death  by  mouche,  the  company  lent  them- 
selves to  the  innovation,  not  without  strong  protest ;  but  it  was 
impossible  to  make  these  games  understood ;  and  as  soon  as 
the  Kergarouets  had  left,  they  were  spoken  of  as  overwhelm- 
ingly abstruse,  as  algebraical  puzzles,  and  incredibly  difficult. 
They  all  preferred  their  beloved  mouche,  their  unpretentious 
little  mouche.  And  mouche  triumphed  over  the  modern  games, 
as  old  things  constantly  triumph  over  new  in  Brittany. 

While  the  cure  dealt  the  cards,  the  Baroness  was  asking  the 
Chevalier  du  Halga  the  same  questions  as  she  had  asked  the 
day  before  as  to  his  health.  The  chevalier  made  it  a  point 
of  honor  to  have  some  new  complaint.  Though  the  questions 
were  always  the  same,  the  captain  had  a  great  advantage  in  his 
replies.  To-day  his  false  ribs  had  been  troubling  him.  The 
remarkable  thing  was  that  the  worthy  man  never  complained 
of  his  wounds.  Everything  serious  he  was  prepared  for,  he 
understood  it ;  but  fantastic  ailments — pains  in  his  head,  dogs 
devouring  his  inside,  bells  ringing  in  his  ears — and  a  thousand 
other  crotchets  worried  him  greatly ;  he  set  up  as  an  incurable, 
with  all  the  more  reason  that  physicians  know  no  remedy  for 
maladies  that  are  non-existent. 

"Yesterday,  I  fancy  you  had  pains  in  your  legs,"  said  the 
cur6  very  seriously. 

"They  move  about,"  replied  du  Halga. 

"Legs  in  your  false  ribs?"  asked  Mademoiselle  Z6phirine. 

"And  made  no  halt  on  the  way?"  said  Mademoiselle  de 
Pen-Hoel  with  a  smile. 

The  chevalier  bowed  gravely,  with  a  negative  shake  of  the 
head,  not  without  fun  in  it,  which  would  have  proved  to  an 


BEATRIX.  4S 

observer  that  in  his  youth  the  seaman  must  have  been  witty, 
loved  and  loving.  His  fossilized  life  at  Guerande  covered 
perhaps  many  memories.  As  he  stood  planted  on  his  heron's 
legs  in  the  sun,  stupidly  watching  the  sea  or  his  dog  sporting 
on  the  mall,  perhaps  he  was  alive  again  in  the  earthly  para- 
dise of  a  past  rich  in  remembrance. 

"  So  the  old  Due  de  Lenoncourt  is  dead  ?  "  said  the  Baron, 
recalling  the  passage  in  the  "  Quotidienne  "  at  which  his  wife 
had  stopped.  "  Well,  well,  the  first  gentleman-in-waiting 
had  not  long  to  wait  before  following  his  master.  I  shall  soon 
go  too." 

'  *  My  dear  !  my  dear  !  ' '  said  his  wife,  gently  patting  his 
lean  and  bony  hand. 

"  Let  him  talk,  sister,"  said  Zephirine.  "  So  long  as  I  am 
above  ground,  he  will  not  go  under  ground.  He  is  younger 
than  I  am." 

A  cheerful  smile  brightened  the  old  woman's  face  when  the 
Baron  dropped  a  reflection  of  this  kind,  the  players  and  callers 
would  look  at  each  other  anxiously,  grieved  to  find  the  King 
of  Gudrande  out  of  spirits.  Those  who  had  come  to  see  him 
would  say  as  they  went  away,  "  Monsieur  de  Gu6nic  is  much 
depressed;  have  you  noticed  how  much  he  sleeps?"  And 
next  day  all  Guerande  would  be  talking  of  it:  "The  Baron 
du  Guenic  is  failing."  The  words  began  the  conversation  in 
every  house  in  the  place. 

"And  is  Thisbe  well?"  asked  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel 
as  soon  as  the  deal  was  over. 

"The  poor  little  beast  is  like  me,"  said  the  chevalier. 
"  Her  nerves  are  out  of  order ;  she  is  always  holding  up  one 
of  her  legs  as  she  runs.     Like  this." 

And  in  showing  how  Thisbe  ran,  by  bending  his  arm  as  he 
raised  it,  the  chevalier  allowed  his  neighbor.  Mademoiselle  de 
Pen-Hoel,  to  see  his  cards;  she  wanted  to  know  whether  he 
had  trumps  or  mistigris.  This  was  the  first  finesse  to  which  he 
fell  a  prey. 


44  BEATRIX. 

**  Oh  !  "  exclaimed  the  Baroness,  **  the  tip  of  Monsieur  le 
Curb's  nose  has  turned  pale,  he  must  have  mistigris !  " 

The  joy  of  having  mistigris  was  so  great  to  the  cure,  as  to 
all  the  players,  that  the  poor  priest  could  not  disguise  it. 
There  is  in  each  human  face  some  spot  where  every  secret 
emotion  of  the  heart  betrays  itself;  and  these  good  people, 
accustomed  to  watch  each  other,  had,  after  the  lapse  of  years, 
discovered  the  weak  place  in  the  cure — when  he  had  mistigris 
the  tip  of  his  nose  turned  white.  Then  they  all  took  care 
not  to  play. 

"You  have  had  visitors  to-day?"  said  the  chevalier  to 
Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel. 

"Yes;  one  of  my  brother-in-law's  cousins.  He  surprised 
me  by  telling  me  of  the  intended  marriage  of  Madame  la 
Comtesse  de  Kergarouet,  a  Demoiselle  de  Fontaine " 

"A  daughter  of  Grand- Jacques !  "  exclaimed  du  Halga, 
who  during  his  stay  in  Paris  had  never  left  his  admiral's 
side. 

"The  Countess  inherits  everything;  she  has  married  a  man 
who  was  ambassador.  He  told  me  the  most  extraordinary 
things  about  our  neighbor,  Mademoiselle  des  Touches ;  so 
extraordinary,  that  I  will  not  believe  them.  Calyste  could 
never  be  so  attentive  to  her ;  he  has  surely  enough  good  sense 
to  perceive  such  monstrosities." 

"  Monstrosities  !  "  said  the  Baron,  roused  by  the  word. 

The  Baroness  and  the  priest  looked  meaningly  at  each 
other.  The  cards  were  dealt.  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel 
had  mistigris ;  she  did  not  want  to  continue  the  conversation, 
but  was  glad  to  cover  her  delight  under  the  general  amaze- 
ment caused  by  this  word. 

"It  is  your  turn  to  lead,  Monsieur  le  Baron,"  said  she, 
bridling. 

"My  dear  nephew  is  not  one  of  those  young  men  who 
like  monstrosities,"  said  Z^phirine,  poking  her  knitting-pin 
through  her  hair. 


BEATRIX.  45 

"Mistigris!"  cried  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel,  without 
answering  her  friend. 

The  cure,  who  appeared  fully  informed  as  to  all  that  con- 
cerned Calyste  and  Mademoiselle  des  Touches,  did  not  enter 
the  lists. 

"What  does  she  do  that  is  so  extraordinary,  this  Made- 
moiselle des  Touches?"  asked  the  Baron. 

"  She  smokes,"  said  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel. 

"It  is  very  wholesome,"  said  the  chevalier. 

"  Her  bacon  ?  "  asked  the  Baron. 

"  Her  bacon  !     She  does  not  save  it,"  retorted  the  old  maid. 

"  Every  one  played,  and  every  one  is  looed  ;  I  have  the 
king,  queen,  and  knave  of  trumps,  mistigris,  and  a  king," 
said  the  Baroness.     "The  pool  is  ours,  sister." 

This  stroke,  won  without  play,  overwhelmed  Mademoiselle 
de  Pen-Hoel,  who  thought  no  more  of  Calyste  and  Made- 
moiselle des  Touches.  At  nine  o'clock  no  one  remained  in 
the  room  but  the  Baroness  and  the  cure.  The  four  old 
people  had  gone  away  and  to  bed. 

The  chevalier,  as  usual,  escorted  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel 
to  her  own  house  in  the  market-place,  making  remarks  on  the 
skill  of  the  last  player,  on  their  good  or  ill  luck,  or  on  the 
ever-new  glee  with  which  Mademoiselle  Zephirine's  pocket 
engulfed  her  winnings,  for  the  old  blind  woman  made  no 
attempt  now  to  disguise  the  expression  of  her  sentiments  in 
her  face.  Madame  du  Guenic's  absence  of  mind  was  their 
subject  to-night.  The  chevalier  had  observed  the  charming 
Irishwoman's  inattention  to  the  game.  On  the  doorstep, 
when  her  boy  had  gone  upstairs,  the  old  lady  replied  in  con- 
fidence to  the  chevalier's  guesses  as  to  the  Baroness'  strange 
manner  by  these  words,  big  with  importance — 

"  I  know  the  reason  ;  Calyste  is  done  for  if  he  is  not  soon 
married.  He  is  in  love  with  Mademoiselle  des  Touches — an 
actress  !  " 

"  In  that  case,  send  for  Charlotte." 


46  BEA  TRIX. 

"  My  sister  shall  hear  from  me  to-morrow,"  said  Mademoi- 
selle de  Pen-Hoel,  bidding  him  good-night. 

From  this  study  of  a  normal  evening,  the  commotion  may 
be  imagined  that  was  produced  in  the  home  circles  of  Guer- 
ande  by  the  arrival,  the  stay,  the  departure,  or  even  the  passing 
through  of  a  stranger. 

When  not  a  sound  was  audible  in  the  Baron's  room  or  in 
his  sister's,  Madame  du  Guenic  turned  to  the  priest,  who  was 
pensively  playing  with  the  counters. 

"  I  see  that  you  at  last  share  my  uneasiness  about  Calyste," 
she  said. 

"  Did  you  notice  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel's  prim  air  this 
evening?"  asked  he. 

"Yes,"  replied  the  Baroness. 

"  She  has,  I  know,  the  very  best  intentions  toward  our  dear 
Calyste ;  she  loves  him  as  if  he  were  her  son  ;  and  his  conduct 
in  la  Vandee  at  his  father's  side,  with  Madame's  praise  of  his 
devoted  behavior,  has  added  to  the  affection  Mademoiselle  de 
Pen-Hoel  feels  for  him.  She  will  endow  either  of  her  nieces 
whom  Calyste  may  marry  with  all  her  fortune  by  deed  of 
gift. 

"You  have,  I  know,  in  Ireland,  a  far  richer  match  for  your 
beloved  boy ;  but  it  is  well  to  have  two  strings  to  one's  bow. 
In  the  event  of  your  family  not  choosing  to  undertake  to  settle 
anything  on  Calyste,  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-HoSl's  fortune  is 
not  to  be  despised.  You  could,  no  doubt,  find  your  son  a 
wife  with  seven  thousand  francs  a  year,  but  not  the  savings 
of  forty  years,  nor  lands  managed,  tilled,  and  kept  up  as 
Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel's  are.  That  wicked  woman,  Made- 
moiselle des  Touches,  has  come  to  spoil  everything.  We  have 
at  last  found  out  something  about  her." 

"  Well  ?  "  asked  the  mother. 

"Oh,  she  is  a  slut,  a  baggage,"  exclaimed  the  cur6.  "A 
woman  of  doubtful  habits,  always  hanging  about  the  theatres 
in  the  company  of  actors  and  actresses,  squandering  her  for- 


BEATRIX.  4a 

tune  with  journalists,  painters,  musicians — the  devil's  own,  in 
short !  When  she  writes,  she  uses  a  different  name  in  her 
books,  and  is  better  known  by  that,  it  is  said,  than  by  that 
of  des  Touches.  A  perfect  imp,  who  has  never  been  inside  a 
church  since  her  first  communion,  excepting  to  stare  at  statues 
or  pictures.  She  has  spent  her  fortune  in  decorating  les 
Touches  in  the  most  improper  manner  to  make  it  a  sort  of 
Mahomet's  paradise,  where  the  houris  are  not  women.  There 
is  more  good  wine  drunk  there  while  she  is  in  the  place  than 
in  all  Guerande  beside  in  a  year.  Last  year  the  Demoiselles 
Bougniol  had  for  lodgers  some  men  with  goats'  beards,  sus- 
pected of  being  '  blues,'  who  used  to  go  to  her  house,  and 
who  sang  songs  that  made  those  virtuous  girls  blush  and  weep. 
That  is  the  woman  your  son  at  present  adores. 

"  If  that  creature  were  to  ask  this  evening  for  one  of  the 
atrocious  books  in  which  atheists  nowadays  laugh  everything 
to  scorn,  the  young  chevalier  would  come  and  saddle  his 
horse  with  his  own  hands,  to  ride  off  at  a  gallop  to  fetch  it  for 
her  from  Nantes.  I  do  not  know  that  Calyste  would  do  so 
much  for  the  church.  And  then,  Bretonne  as  she  is,  she  is 
not  a  Royalist.  If  it  were  necessary  to  march  out,  gun  in 
hand,  for  the  good  cause,  should  Mademoiselle  des  Touches — 
or  Camille  Maupin,  for  that,  I  remember,  is  her  name — want 
to  keep  Calyste  with  her,  your  son  would  let  his  old  father  set 
out  alone." 

"  No,"  said  the  Baroness. 

"  I  should  not  like  to  put  him  to  the  test,  you  might  feel  it 
too  painfully,"  replied  the  cure.  "All  Gu6rande  is  in  a 
commotion  over  the  chevalier's  passion  for  this  amphibious 
creature  that  is  neither  man  nor  woman,  who  smokes  like  a 
trooper,  writes  like  a  journalist,  and,  at  this  moment,  has 
under  her  roof  the  most  malignant  writer  of  them  all,  accord- 
ing to  the  postmaster — a  trimmer  who  reads  all  the  papers. 
It  is  talked  of  at  Nantes.  This  morning  the  Kergarouet 
cousin,  who  wants  to  see  Charlotte  married  to  a  man  who  has 


\ 


48  BEATRIX. 

sixty  thousand  francs  a  year,  came  to  call  on  Mademoiselle  de 
Pen-Hoel,  and  turned  her  head  with  roundabout  tales  about 
Mademoiselle  des  Touches  which  lasted  seven  hours.  There 
is  a  quarter  to  ten  striking  by  the  church  clock,  and  Calyste 
is  not  come  in ;  he  is  at  les  Touches — perhaps  he  will  not 
come  back  until  morning." 

The  Baroness  listened  to  the  cur6,  who  had  unconsciously 
substituted  monologue  for  dialogue ;  he  was  looking  at  this 
lamb  of  his  flock,  reading  her  uneasy  thoughts  in  her  face. 
The  Baroness  was  blushing  and  trembling.  When  the  Abb6 
Grimont  saw  tears  in  the  distressed  mother's  beautiful  eyes, 
he  was  deeply  touched. 

"  I  will  see  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel  to-morrow,  be  com- 
forted," said  he,  in  an  encouraging  tone.  "The  mischief  is, 
perhaps,  not  so  great  as  rumor  says ;  I  will  find  out  the  truth. 
Beside,  Mademoiselle  Jacqueline  has  confidence  in  me. 
Again,  we  have  brought  up  Calyste,  and  he  will  not  allow 
himself  to  be  bewitched  by  the  demon  ;  he  will  do  nothing 
to  disturb  the  peace  of  his  family,  or  the  plans  we  are  making 
for  his  future  life.  Do  not  weep ;  all  is  not  lost,  madame ; 
one  fault  is  not  vice." 

"You  only  tell  me  the  details,"  said  the  Baroness.  "Was 
not  I  the  first  to  perceive  the  change  in  Calyste  ?  A  mother 
feels  keenly  the  pain  of  being  second  in  her  son's  affections, 
the  grief  of  not  being  alone  in  his  heart.  That  phase  of  a 
man's  life  is  one  of  the  woes  of  motherhood ;  but  though  I 
knew  it  must  come,  I  did  not  expect  it  so  soon.  And,  then, 
I  could  have  wished  that  he  should  have  taken  into  his  heart 
some  beautiful  and  noble  creature,  not  a  mere  actress,  a  pos- 
ture-maker, a  woman  who  frequents  theatres,  an  authoress 
accustomed  to  feign  feeling,  a  bad  woman  who  will  deceive 
him  and  make  him  wretched.     She  has  had  'affairs?'  " 

"With  many  men,"  said  the  Abb6  Grimont.  "And  yet 
this  miscreant  was  born  in  Brittany.  She  is  a  disgrace  to  her 
native  soil.     On  Sunday  I  will  preach  a  sermon  about  her," 


BEATRIX.  49 

"By  no  means  !  "  exclaimed  the  Baroness.  "The  marsh- 
men  and  peasants  are  capable  of  attacking  les  Touches. 
Calyste  is  worthy  of  his  name :  he  is  a  true  Breton ;  and  some 
evil  might  come  of  it  if  he  were  there,  for  he  would  fight  for 
her  as  if  she  were  the  blessed  Virgin." 

"It  is  striking  ten;  I  will  bid  you  good-night,"  said  the 
abb6,  lighting  the  oribus  of  his  lantern,  of  which  the  clear 
glass-panes  and  glittering  metal-work  showed  his  housekeeper's 
minute  care  for  all  the  concerns  of  the  house.  "  Who  could 
have  told  me,  madame,"  he  went  on,  "that  a  young  man 
nursed  at  your  breast,  brought  up  by  me  in  Christian  ideas,  a 
fervent  Catholic,  a  boy  who  lived  like  a  lamb  without  spot, 
would  plunge  into  such  a  foul  bog?" 

"But  is  that  quite  certain?"  said  the  mother.  "And, 
after  all,  how  could  any  woman  help  loving  Calyste?  " 

"  No  proof  is  needed  beyond  that  witch's  prolonged  stay 
at  les  Touches.  During  twenty-four  years,  since  she  came  of 
age,  this  is  the  longest  visit  she  has  paid  here.  Happily  for 
us,  her  apparitions  have  hitherto  been  brief." 

"  A  woman  past  forty  !  "  said  the  Baroness.  "I  have  heard 
it  said  in  Ireland  that  such  a  woman  is  the  most  dangerous 
mistress  a  young  man  can  have." 

"  On  that  point  I  am  ignorant,"  replied  the  cure.  "  Nay, 
and  I  shall  die  in  my  ignorance." 

"  Alas  !  and  so  shall  I,"  said  the  Baroness.  "  I  wish  now 
that  I  had  ever  been  in  love,  to  be  able  to  study,  advise,  and 
comfort  Calyste." 

The  priest  did  not  cross  the  clean  little  courtyard  alone ; 
Madame  du  Guenic  went  with  him  as  far  as  the  gate,  in 
the  hope  of  hearing  Calyste's  step  in  Guerande ;  but  she 
heard  only  the  heavy  sound  of  the  abbe's  deliberate  tread, 
which  grew  fainter  in  the  distance,  and  ceased  when  the 
shutting  of  the  priest's  door  echoed  through  the  silent 
town. 

The    poor   mother   went    indoors   in  despair   at    learning 
4 


60  BEATRIX. 

that  the  whole  town  was  informed  of  what  she  had  believed 
herself  alone  in  knowing.  She  sat  down,  revived  the  lamp 
by  cutting  the  wick  with  a  pair  of  old  scissors,  and  took  up 
the  worsted  work  she  was  accustomed  to  do  while  waiting 
for  Calyste.  She  flattered  herself  that  she  thus  induced  her 
son  to  come  home  earlier,  to  spend  less  time  with  Mademoi- 
selle des  Touches.  But  this  stratagem  of  maternal  jealousy 
was  in  vain.  Calyste's  visits  to  les  Touches  became  more 
and  more  frequent,  and  every  evening  he  came  in  a  little  later ; 
at  last,  the  previous  night,  he  had  not  returned  until  midnight. 

The  Baroness,  sunk  in  meditation,  set  her  stitches  with  the 
energy  of  women  who  can  think  while  following  some  manual 
occupation.  Anyone  who  should  have  seen  her  bent  to  catch 
the  light  of  the  lamp,  in  the  midst  of  the  paneling  of  this 
room,  four  centuries  old,  must  have  admired  the  noble  pic- 
ture. Fanny's  flesh  had  a  transparency  that  seemed  to  show 
her  thoughts  legible  on  her  brow.  Stung,  now,  by  the  curi- 
osity that  comes  to  pure-minded  women,  she  wondered  by 
what  diabolical  secrets  these  daughters  of  Baal  so  bewitched 
a  man  as  to  make  him  forget  his  mother  and  family,  his  coun- 
try, his  self-interest.  Then  she  went  so  far  as  to  wish  she 
could  see  the  woman,  so  as  to  judge  her  sanely.  She  calcu- 
lated the  extent  of  the  mischief  that  the  innovating  spirit  of 
the  age — which  the  cure  described  as  so  dangerous  to  youthful 
souls — might  do  to  her  only  child,  till  now  as  guileless  and 
pure  as  an  innocent  girl,  whose  beauty  could  not  be  fresher 
than  his. 

Calyste,  a  noble  offshoot  of  the  oldest  Breton  and  the  no- 
blest Irish  blood,  had  been  carefully  brought  up  by  his 
mother.  Till  the  moment  when  the  Baroness  handed  him 
over  to  the  cure  of  Guerande,  she  was  sure  that  not  an  inde- 
cent word,  nor  an  evil  idea,  had  ever  soiled  her  son's  ear  or 
his  understanding.  The  mother,  after  rearing  him  on  her 
own  milk,  and  thus  giving  him  a  double  infusion  of  her  blood, 
could  present  him  in  virginal  innocence  to  the  priest  who. 


BEATRIX.  61 

out  of  reverence  for  the  family,  undertook  to  give  him  a 
complete  and  Christian  education.  Calyste  was  educated  on 
the  plan  of  the  seminary  where  the  Abbe  Grimont  had  been 
brought  up.  His  mother  taught  him  English,  A  mathemat- 
ical master  was  discovered,  not  without  difficulty,  among  the 
clerks  at  Saint-Nazaire.  Calyste,  of  course,  knew  nothing  of 
modern  literature,  or  of  the  latest  advance  and  progress  of 
science.  His  education  was  limited  to  the  geography  and 
emasculated  history  taught  in  girls'  schools,  to  the  Latin  and 
Greek  of  the  seminary,  to  the  literature  of  dead  languages, 
and  a  limited  selection  of  French  writers.  When,  at  sixteen, 
he  began  what  the  abbe  called  his  course  of  philosophy,  he 
was  still  as  innocent  as  at  the  moment  when  Fanny  had 
handed  him  over  to  the  cure.  The  church  was  no  less  ma- 
ternal than  the  mother ;  without  being  bigoted  or  ridiculous, 
this  well-beloved  youth  was  a  fervent  Catholic. 

The  Baroness  longed  to  plan  a  happy  and  obscure  life  for 
her  handsome  and  immaculate  son.  She  expected  some  little 
fortune  from  an  old  aunt,  about  two  or  three  thousand  pounds 
sterling ;  this  sum,  added  to  the  present  fortune  of  the 
Guenics,  might  enable  her  to  find  a  wife  for  Calyste  who 
would  bring  him  twelve  or  fifteen  thousand  francs  a  year. 
Charlotte  de  Kergarouet,  with  her  aunt's  money,  some  rich 
Irish  girl,  or  any  other  heiress — it  was  a  matter  of  indifference 
to  the  Baroness.  She  knew  nothing  of  love ;  like  all  the 
people  among  whom  she  lived,  she  regarded  marriage  as  a 
stepping-stone  to  fortune.  Passion  was  a  thing  unknown  to 
these  Catholics,  old  people  wholly  occupied  in  saving  their 
souls,  in  thinking  of  God,  the  King,  and  their  own  wealth. 

No  one,  therefore,  can  be  surprised  at  the  gravity  of  the  re- 
flections that  mingled  with  the  wounded  feelings  in  this 
mother's  heart,  living,  as  she  did,  as  much  for  her  boy's 
interests  as  by  his  affection.  If  the  young  couple  would  but 
listen  to  reason,  by  living  parsimoniously  and  economizing, 
as  country  folk  know  how,  by  the  second  generation  the  du 


52  BE  A  TRIX. 

Guenics  might  repurchase  their  old  estates  and  reconquer  the 
splendor  of  wealth.  The  Baroness  hoped  to  live  to  be  old 
that  she  might  see  the  dawn  of  that  life  of  ease.  Mademoiselle 
du  Guenic  had  understood  and  adopted  this  scheme,  and  now 
it  was  threatened  by  Mademoiselle  des  Touches. 

Madame  du  Guenic  heard  midnight  strike  with  horror,  and 
she  endured  an  hour  more  of  fearful  alarms,  for  the  stroke  of 
one  rang  out,  and  still  Calyste  had  not  come  home. 

"  Will  he  stay  there?"  she  wondered.  "  It  would  be  the 
first  time — poor  child." 

At  this  moment  Calyste's  step  was  heard  in  the  street. 
The  poor  mother,  in  whose  heart  joy  took  the  place  of  anxiety, 
flew  from  the  room  to  the  gate  and  opened  it  for  her  son. 

*'  My  dearest  mother,"  cried  Calyste,  with  a  look  of  vexa- 
tion, "why  sit  up  for  me?  I  have  the  latch-key  and  a  tinder- 
box." 

"  You  know,  my  child,  that  I  can  never  sleep  while  you  are 
out,"  said  she,  kissing  him. 

When  the  Baroness  had  returned  to  the  room,  she  looked 
into  her  son's  face  to  read  in  its  expression  what  had  hap- 
pened during  the  evening;  but  this  look  produced  in  her,  as 
it  always  did,  a  certain  emotion  which  custom  does  not  weaken 
— which  all  loving  mothers  feel  as  they  gaze  at  their  human 
masterpiece,  and  which  for  a  moment  dims  their  sight. 

Calyste  had  black  eyes,  full  of  vigor  and  sunshine,  inherited 
from  his  father,  with  the  fine  fair  hair,  the  aquiline  nose  and 
lovely  mouth,  the  turned-up  finger-tips,  the  soft  complexion, 
finish,  and  fairness  of  his  mother.  Though  he  looked  not  unlike 
a  girl  dressed  as  a  man,  he  was  wonderfully  strong.  His  sinews 
had  the  elasticity  and  tension  of  steel  springs,  and  the  singular 
effect  of  his  black  eyes  had  a  charm  of  its  own.  As  yet  he  had 
no  hair  on  his  face ;  this  late  development,  it  is  said,  is  a  promise 
of  long  life.  The  young  chevalier,  who  wore  a  short  jacket 
of  black  velvet,  like  his  mother's  gown,  with  silver  buttons, 
had  a  blue  neckerchief,  neat  gaiters,  and  trousers  of  gray 


BEATRIX.  68 

drill.  His  snow-white  forehead  bore  the  traces,  as  it  seemed, 
of  great  fatigue,  but,  in  fact,  they  were  those  of  a  burden  of 
sad  thoughts.  His  mother,  having  no  suspicion  of  the  sorrows 
that  were  eating  the  lad's  heart  out,  ascribed  this  transient 
change  to  happiness.  Calyste  was,  nevertheless,  as  beautiful 
as  a  Greek  god,  handsome  without  conceit ;  for,  in  the  first 
place,  he  was  accustomed  to  see  his  mother,  and  he  also  cared 
but  little  for  beauty,  which  he  knew  to  be  useless. 

"And  those  lovely  smooth  cheeks,"  thought  she,  "where 
the  rich  young  blood  flows  in  a  thousand  tiny  veins,  belong  to 
another  woman,  who  is  mistress,  too,  of  that  girl-like  brow? 
Passion  will  stamp  them  with  its  agitations,  and  dim  those  fine 
eyes,  as  liquid  now  as  a  child's  !  " 

The  bitter  thought  fell  heavy  on  Madame  du  Guenic's  heart 
and  spoilt  her  pleasure. 

It  must  seem  strange  that,  in  a  family  where  six  persons 
were  obliged  to  live  on  three  thousand  francs  a  year,  the  son 
should  have  a  velvet  coat  and  the  mother  a  velvet  dress ;  but 
Fanny  O'Brien  had  rich  relations  and  aunts  in  London  who 
reminded  the  Breton  Baroness  of  their  existence  by  sending 
her  presents.  Some  of  her  sisters,  having  married  well,  took 
an  interest  in  Calyste  so  far  as  to  think  of  finding  him  a  rich 
wife,  knowing  that  he  was  as  handsome  and  as  well  born  as 
their  exiled  favorite  Fanny. 

"You  stayed  later  at  les  Touches  than  you  did  yesterday, 
my  darling  ?  "  she  said  at  last,  in  a  broken  voice. 

"Yes,  mother  dear,"  replied  he,  without  adding  any  ex- 
planation. 

The  brevity  of  the  answer  brought  a  cloud  to  his  mother's 
brow  ;  she  postponed  any  explanation  till  the  morrow.  When 
mothers  are  disturbed  by  such  alarms  as  the  Baroness  felt  at 
this  moment,  they  almost  tremble  before  their  sons  ;  they  in- 
stinctively feel  the  effects  of  the  great  emancipation  of  love  ; 
they  understand  all  that  this  new  feeling  will  rob  them  of; 
but,  at  the  same  time,  they  are,  in  a  sense,  glad  of  their  son's 


64  BE  A  TRIX. 

happiness  ;  there  is  a  fierce  struggle  in  their  hearts.  Though 
the  result  is  that  the  son  is  grown  up,  and  on  a  higher  level, 
true  mothers  do  not  like  their  tacit  abdication ;  they  would 
rather  keep  their  child  little  and  wanting  care.  That,  per- 
haps, is  the  secret  of  mothers'  favoritism  for  weakly,  deformed, 
and  helpless  children. 

"You  are  very  tired,  dear  child,"  said  she,  swallowing 
down  her  tears.     "  Go  to  bed." 

A  mother  who  does  not  know  everything  her  son  is  doing 
thinks  of  him  as  lost  when  she  loves  and  is  as  well  loved  as 
Fanny.  And  perhaps  any  other  mother  would  have  quaked 
in  her  place  as  much  as  Madame  du  Guenic.  The  patience 
of  twenty  years  might  be  made  useless.  Calyste — a  human 
masterpiece  of  noble,  prudent,  and  religious  training — might 
be  ruined  ;  the  happiness  so  carefully  prepared  for  him  might 
be  destroyed  for  ever  by  a  woman. 

Next  day  Calyste  slept  till  noon,  for  his  mother  would  not 
allow  him  to  be  roused  ;  Mariotte  gave  the  spoilt  boy  his 
breakfast  in  bed.  The  immutable  and  almost  conventual  rule 
that  governed  the  hours  of  meals  yielded  to  the  young  gen- 
tleman's caprices.  Indeed,  when  at  any  time  it  was  necessary 
to  obtain  Mademoiselle  du  Guenic's  bunch  of  keys  to  get  out 
something  between  meals  which  would  necessitate  intermin- 
able explanations,  the  only  way  of  doing  it  was  to  plead  some 
whim  of  Calyste's. 

At  about  one  o'clock  the  Baron,  his  wife,  and  mademoiselle 
were  sitting  in  the  dining-room  ;  they  dined  at  three.  The 
Baroness  had  taken  up  the  "  Quotidienne  "  and  was  finishing 
it  to  her  husband,  who  was  always  rather  more  wakeful  before 
his  meals.  Just  as  she  had  done,  Madame  du  Guenic  heard 
her  son's  step  on  the  floor  above,  and  laid  down  the  paper, 
saying — 

"  Calyste,  I  suppose,  is  dining  at  les  Touches  again  to-day ; 
he  has  just  finished  dressing." 


BEATRIX.  66 

**He  takes  his  pleasure — that  boy!"  said  the  old  lady, 
pulling  a  silver  whistle  out  of  her  pocket,  and  whistling  once. 

Mariotte  came  through  the  turret,  making  her  appearance 
at  the  door,  which  was  hidden  by  a  silk  damask  curtain,  like 
those  at  the  windows. 

"  Yes,"  said  she,  "  did  you  please  to  want  anything?  " 

**  The  chevalier  is  dining  at  les  Touches ;  we  shall  not  want 
the  fish." 

"  Well,  we  do  not  know  yet,"  said  the  Baroness. 

"You  seem  vexed  about  it,  sister  ;  I  know  by  the  tone  of 
your  voice,"  said  the  blind  woman. 

"Monsieur  Grimont  has  learned  some  serious  facts  about 
Mademoiselle  des  Touches,  who,  during  the  last  year,  has 
done  so  much  to  change  our  dear  Calyste." 

"  In  what  way?  "  asked  the  Baron. 

"  Well,  he  reads  all  sorts  of  books." 

"  Ah,  ha  !  "  said  the  Baron  ',  "  then  that  is  why  he  neglects 
hunting  and  riding." 

"She  leads  a  very  reprehensible  life  and  calls  herself  by  a 
man's  name,"  Madame  du  Guenic  went  on. 

"A  nickname  among  comrades,"  said  the  old  man.  "I 
used  to  be  called  I'Intime,  the  Comte  de  Fontaine  was  Grand- 
Jacques,  the  Marquis  de  Montauran  was  le  Gars.  I  was  a 
great  friend  of  Ferdinand's ;  he  did  not  submit,  any  more 
than  I  did.  Those  were  good  times  !  There  was  plenty  of 
fighting,  and  we  had  some  fun  here  and  there,  all  the  same." 

These  reminiscences  of  the  war,  thus  taking  the  place  of 
paternal  anxiety,  distressed  Fanny  for  a  moment.  The  cure's 
revelations  and  her  son's  want  of  confidence  had  hindered 
her  sleeping. 

"  And  if  Monsieur  le  Chevalier  should  be  in  love  with 
Mademoiselle  des  Touches,  where  is  the  harm?"  exclaimed 
Mariotte.  "She  is  a  fine  woman  and  has  thirty  thousand 
crowns  a  year." 

"  What  are  you  talking  about,  Mariotte,"  cried  the  old  man. 


66  BEATRIX. 

"  A  du  Gu6nic  to  marry  a  des  Touches  !  The  des  Touches 
were  not  even  our  squires  at  a  time  when  the  du  Guesclins 
regarded  an  alliance  with  us  as  a  distinguished  honor." 

"A  woman  who  calls  herself  by  a  man's  name — Camille 
Maupin  !  "  added  the  Baroness. 

"The   Maupins   are   an   old  family,"   said  the  old  man. 

"They  are  Norman,  and  bear  gules,  three "  he  stopped 

short.  "  But  she  cannot  be  a  man  and  a  woman  at  the  same 
time." 

"  She  calls  herself  Maupin  at  the  theatre." 

"A  des  Touches  cannot  be  an  actress,"  said  the  old  man. 
**  If  I  did  not  know  you,  Fanny,  I  should  think  you  were 
mad." 

**  She  writes  pieces  and  books,"  the  Baroness  went  on. 

"Writes  books  !  "  said  the  Baron,  looking  at  his  wife  with 
as  much  astonishment  as  if  he  had  heard  of  a  miracle.  "  I 
have  heard  that  Mademoiselle  de  Scuderi  and  Madame  de 
S6vign6  wrote  books,  and  that  was  not  the  best  of  what  they 
did.  But  only  Louis  XIV.  and  his  court  could  produce  such 
prodigies." 

"  You  will  be  dining  at  les  Touches,  won't  you,  monsieur?" 
said  Mariotte  to  Calyste,  who  came  in. 

"Probably,"  said  the  young  man. 

Mariotte  was  not  inquisitive,  and  she  was  one  of  the  family; 
she  left  the  room  without  waiting  to  hear  the  question  Madame 
du  Gu^nic  was  about  to  put  to  Calyste. 

"You  are  going  to  les  Touches  again,  my  Calyste?"  said 
she,  with  an  emphasis  on  my  Calyste.  "  And  les  Touches  is 
not  a  decent  and  reputable  house.  The  mistress  of  it  leads  a 
wild  life ;  she  will  corrupt  our  boy.  Camille  Maupin  makes 
him  read  a  great  many  books — she  has  had  a  great  many  ad- 
ventures !  And  you  knew  it,  bad  child,  and  never  said  any- 
thing about  it  to  your  old  folk." 

"  The  chevalier  is  discreet,"  said  his  father,  "  an  old-world 
virtue  I  '* 


BEATRIX.  57 

"Too  discreet!  "  said  the  jealous  mother,  as  she  saw  the 
color  mount  to  her  son's  brow. 

"My  dear  mother,"  said  Calyste,  kneeling  down  before 
her;  "I  did  not  think  it  necessary  to  proclaim  my  defeat. 
Mademoiselle  des  Touches,  or,  if  you  prefer  it,  Camille 
Maupin,  rejected  my  love  eighteen  months  since,  when  she 
was  here  last.  She  gently  made  fun  of  me ;  she  might  be  my 
mother,  she  said  ;  a  woman  of  forty  who  loved  a  minor  com- 
mitted a  sort  of  incest,  and  she  was  incapable  of  such  de- 
pravity. In  short,  she  laughed  at  me  in  a  hundred  ways,  and 
quite  overpowered  me,  for  she  has  the  wit  of  an  angel.  Then, 
when  she  saw  me  crying  bitter  tears,  she  comforted  me  by 
offering  me  her  friendship  in  the  noblest  way.  She  has  even 
more  heart  than  brains  ;  she  is  as  generous  as  you  are.  I  am 
like  a  child  to  her  now.  llien,  when  she  came  here  again,  I 
heard  that  she  loved  another  man  and  I  resigned  myself. 
Do  not  repeat  all  the  calumnies  you  hear  about  her ;  Camille 
is  an  artist ;  she  has  genius,  and  leads  one  of  those  exceptional 
lives  which  cannot  be  judged  by  provincial  or  ordinary  stand- 
ards." 

"  My  child  !  "  said  the  pious  Fanny,  "nothing  can  excuse 
a  woman  for  not  living  according  to  the  ordinances  of  the 
church.  She  fails  in  her  duties  toward  God  and  toward  so- 
ciety by  failing  in  the  gentle  religion  of  her  sex.  A  woman 
commits  a  sin  even  by  going  to  a  theatre  ;  but  when  she  writes 
impieties  to  be  repeated  by  actors,  and  flies  about  the  world, 
sometimes  with  an  enemy  of  the  Pope's,  sometimes  with  a 
musician Oh,  Calyste !  you  will  find  it  hard  to  con- 
vince me  that  such  things  are  acts  of  faith,  hope,  or  charity. 
Her  fortune  was  given  her  by  God  to  do  good.  What  use 
does  she  make  of  it  ?  " 

Calyste  suddenly  stood  up ;  he  looked  at  his  mother  and 
said — 

"  Mother,  Camille  is  my  friend.  I  cannot  hear  her  spoken 
of  in  this  way,  for  I  would  give  my  life  for  her." 


58  BEATRIX. 

"Your  life?"  said  the  Baroness,  gazing  at  her  son  in  ter- 
ror.    **  Your  life  is  our  life — tlie  life  of  us  all  !  " 

"  My  handsome  nephew  has  made  use  of  many  words  that 
I  do  not  understand,"  said  the  old  blind  woman,  turning  to 
Calyste. 

"  Where  has  he  learned  them  ?  "  added  his  mother.  **  At 
les  Touches." 

**  Why,  my  dear  mother,  she  found  me  as  ignorant  as  a 
carp." 

"You  knew  all  that  was  essential  in  knowing  the  duties 
enjoined  on  us  by  religion,"  replied  the  Baroness.  "Ah! 
that  woman  will  undermine  your  noble  and  holy  beliefs." 

The  old  aunt  rose  and  solemnly  extended  her  hand  toward 
her  brother,  who  was  sleeping. 

"Calyste,"  said  she,  in  a  voice  that  came  from  her  heart, 
**  your  father  never  opened  a  book,  he  speaks  Breton,  he 
fought  in  the  midst  of  perils  for  the  King  and  for  God. 
Educated  men  had  done  the  mischief,  and  gentlemen  of 
learning  had  deserted  their  country.     Learn  if  you  will." 

She  sat  down  again  and  began  knitting  with  the  vehemence 
that  came  of  her  mental  agitation.  Calyste  was  struck  by 
this  Phocion-like  utterance. 

*'  In  short,  my  dearest,  I  have  a  presentiment  of  some  evil 
hanging  over  you  in  that  house,"  said  his  mother,  in  a  broken 
voice,  as  her  tears  fell. 

"Who  is  making  Fanny  cry?"  exclaimed  the  old  man, 
suddenly  wakened  by  the  sound  of  his  wife's  voice.  He 
looked  round  at  her,  his  son,  and  his  sister. 

"What  is  the  matter?" 

"  Nothing,  my  dear,"  replied  the  Baroness. 

"Mamma,"  said  Calyste,  in  his  mother's  ear,  "it  is  im- 
possible that  I  should  explain  matters  now ;  but  we  will  talk 
it  over  this  evening.  When  you  know  all,  you  will  bless 
Mademoiselle  des  Touches." 

"Mothers  have  no  love  of  cursing,"  replied  the  Baroness, 


BE  A  TRIX.  59 

"  and  I  should  never  curse  any  woman  who  truly  loved  my 
Calyste." 

The  young  man  said  good-by  to  his  father,  and  left  the 
house.  The  Baron  and  his  wife  rose  to  watch  him  as  he 
crossed  the  courtyard,  opened  the  gate,  and  disappeared. 
The  Baroness  did  not  take  up  the  paper  again ;  she  was 
agitated.  In  a  life  so  peaceful,  so  monotonous,  this  little  dis- 
cussion was  as  serious  as  a  quarrel  in  any  other  family ;  and 
the  mother's  anxiety,  though  soothed,  was  not  dispelled. 
Whither  would  this  friendship,  which  might  demand  and  im- 
peril her  boy's  life,  ultimately  lead  him  ?  How  could  she, 
the  Baroness,  have  reason  to  bless  Mademoiselle  des  Touches  ? 
These  two  questions  were  as  all-important  to  her  simple  soul 
as  the  maddest  revolution  can  be  to  a  diplomatist.  Camille 
Maupin  was  a  revolution  in  the  quiet  and  simple  home. 

"I  am  very  much  afraid  that  this  woman  will  spoil  him  for 
us,"  said  she,  taking  up  the  newspaper  again. 

"My  dear  Fanny,"  said  the  old  Baron,  with  knowing 
sprightliness,  "  you  are  too  completely  an  angel  to  understand 
such  things.  Mademoiselle  des  Touches  is,  they  say,  as  black 
as  a  crow,  as  strong  as  a  Turk,  and  she  is  forty — our  dear  boy 
was  sure  to  be  attracted  by  her.  He  will  tell  a  few  very  honor- 
able fibs  to  conceal  his  happiness.  Let  him  enjoy  the  illusions 
of  his  first  love." 

"If  it  were  any  other  woman " 

"  But,  dearest  Fanny,  if  the  woman  were  a  saint,  she  would 
not  make  your  son  welcome." 

The  Baroness  went  back  to  the  paper. 

"I  will  go  to  see  her,"  said  the  old  man,  "and  tell  you 
what  I  think  of  her.*' 

The  speech  has  no  point  but  in  retrospect.  After  hearing 
the  history  of  Camille  Maupin,  you  may  imagine  the  Baron 
face  to  face  with  this  famous  woman. 

The  town  of  Guerande,  which  for  two  months  past  had  seen 
Calyste — its  flower  and  its  pride — going  every  day,  morning 


eO  BEATRIX. 

or  evening — sometimes  botli  morning  and  evening — to  les 
Touches,  supposed  that  Mademoiselle  des  Touches  was  pas- 
sionately in  love  with  the  handsome  lad,  and  did  her  utmost 
to  bewitch  him.  More  than  one  girl  and  one  young  woman 
wondered  what  was  the  witchcraft  of  an  old  woman  that  she 
had  such  absolute  empire  over  the  angelic  youth.  And  so,  as 
Calyste  crossed  the  High  street  to  go  out  by  the  gate  to  le 
Croisic,  more  than  one  eye  looked  anxiously  after  him. 

It  now  becomes  necessary  to  account  for  the  reports  that 
were  current  concerning  the  personage  whom  Calyste  was  going 
to  see.  These  rumors,  swelled  by  Breton  gossip  and  enven- 
omed by  the  ignorance  of  the  public,  had  reached  even  the 
cur6.  The  tax-receiver,  the  justice  of  the  peace,  the  head 
clerk  of  the  customs  at  Saint-Nazaire,  and  other  literate  per- 
sons in  the  district,  had  not  reassured  the  abbe  by  telling  him 
of  the  eccentric  life  led  by  the  woman  and  artist  hidden  under 
the  name  of  Camille  Maupin. 

She  had  not  yet  come  to  eating  little  children,  to  killing 
her  slaves,  like  Cleopatra,  to  throwing  men  into  the  river,  as 
the  heroine  of  the  "Tour  de  Nesle"  is  falsely  accused  of 
doing;  still,  to  the  Abbe  Grimont,  this  monstrous  creature, 
at  once  a  siren  and  an  atheist,  was  a  most  immoral  combina- 
tion of  woman  and  philosopher,  and  fell  short  of  every  social 
law  laid  down  to  control  or  utilize  the  weaknesses  of  the  fair 
sex.  Just  as  Clara  Gazul  is  the  feminine  pseudonym  of  a 
clever  man  and  George  Sand  that  of  a  woman  of  genius,  so 
Camille  Maupin  was  the  mask  behind  which  a  charming  girl 
long  hid  herself — a  Bretonne  named  Felicite  des  Touches,  she 
who  was  now  giving  the  Baronne  du  Guenic  and  the  worthy 
Cure  of  Gu^rande  so  much  cause  for  anxiety.  This  family 
has  no  connection  with  that  of  the  des  Touches  of  Touraine, 
to  which  the  Regent's  ambassador  belongs,  a  man  more  famous 
now  for  his  literary  talents  than  for  his  diplomacy. 

Camille  Maupin,  one  of  the  few  famous  women  of  the  nine- 


BEATRIX.  61 

teenth  century,  was  long  supposed  to  be  really  a  man,  so 
manly  was  her  first  appearance  as  an  author.  Everybody  is 
now  familiar  with  the  two  volumes  of  dramas,  impossible  to 
put  on  the  stage,  written  in  the  manner  of  Shakespeare  or  of 
Lopez  de  Vega,  and  brought  out  in  1822,  which  caused  a  sort 
of  literary  revolution  when  the  great  question  of  Romanticism 
versus  Classicism  was  a  burning  one  in  the  papers,  at  clubs, 
and  at  the  Academic.  Since  then  Camille  Maupin  has  written 
several  plays  and  a  novel  which  have  not  belied  the  success  of 
her  first  efforts,  now  rather  too  completely  forgotten,  except 
by  literati. 

An  explanation  of  the  chain  of  circumstances  by  which  a 
girl  assumed  a  masculine  incarnation — by  which  Felicite 
des  Touches  made  herself  a  man  and  a  writer — of  how, 
more  fortunate  than  Madame  de  Stael,  she  remained  free, 
and  so  was  more  readily  excused  for  her  celebrity — will,  no 
doubt,  satisfy  much  curiosity,  and  justify  the  existence  of  one 
of  those  monstrosities  which  stand  up  among  mankind  like 
monuments,  their  fame  being  favored  by  their  rarity — for  in 
twenty  centuries  scarcely  twenty  great  women  are  to  be 
counted.  Hence,  though  she  here  plays  but  a  secondary  part, 
as  she  had  great  influence  over  Calyste,  and  is  a  figure  in  the 
literary  history  of  the  time,  no  one  will  be  sorry  if  we  pause 
to  study  her  for  a  rather  longer  time  than  modern  fiction 
usually  allows. 

In  1793  Mademoiselle  Felicite  des  Touches  found  herself 
an  orphan.  Thus  her  estates  escap)ed  the  confiscation  which 
no  doubt  would  have  fallen  on  her  father  or  brother.  Her 
father  died  on  the  loth  of  August,  killed  on  the  palace  steps 
among  the  defenders  of  the  King,  on  whom  he  was  in  waiting 
as  major  of  the  bodyguard.  Her  brother,  a  young  member 
of  the  corps,  was  massacred  at  les  Carmes.  Mademoiselle 
des  Touches  was  but  two  years  old  when  her  mother  died  of 
grief  a  few  days  after  this  second  blow.  On  her  death-bed 
Madame  des  Touches  placed  her  little  girl  in  the  care  of  her 


62  BEATRIX. 

sister,  a  nun  at  Chelles,  This  nun,  Madame  de  Faucombe, 
very  prudently  took  the  child  to  Faucombe,  an  estate  of  some 
extent  near  Nantes,  belonging  to  Madame  des  Touches,  where 
she  settled  with  three  sisters  from  the  convent.  During  the 
last  days  of  the  Terror,  the  mob  of  Nantes  demolished  the 
chateau  and  seized  the  sisters  and  Mademoiselle  des  Touches, 
who  were  thrown  into  prison  under  a  false  charge  of  having 
harbored  emissaries  from  Pitt  and  from  Coburg.  The  ninth 
Therraidor  saved  them.  Felicitd's  aunt  died  of  the  fright ; 
two  of  the  sisters  fled  from  France ;  the  third  handed  the 
little  girl  over  to  her  nearest  relation,  Monsieur  de  Faucombe, 
her  mother's  uncle,  who  lived  at  Nantes,  and  then  joined  her 
companions  in  exile. 

Monsieur  de  Faucombe,  a  man  of  sixty,  had  married  a 
young  wife,  to  whom  he  left  the  management  of  his  aflfairs. 
He  busied  himself  only  with  archaeology,  a  passion,  or,  to  be 
accurate,  a  mania,  which  helps  old  men  to  think  themselves 
alive.  His  ward's  education  was  left  entirely  to  chance. 
F^licite,  little  cared  for  by  a  young  woman  who  threw  herself 
into  all  the  pleasures  of  the  Emperor's  reign,  brought  herself 
up  like  a  boy.  She  sat  with  Monsieur  de  Faucombe  in  his 
library,  and  read  whatever  he  might  happen  to  be  reading. 
Thus  she  knew  life  well  in  theory,  and  preserved  no  inno- 
cence of  mind  though  virginal  at  heart.  Her  intelligence 
wandered  through  all  the  impurities  of  science  while  her  heart 
remained  pure.  Her  knowledge  was  something  amazing,  fed 
by  her  passion  for  reading  and  well  served  by  an  excellent 
memory.  Thus,  at  eighteen,  she  was  as  learned  as  the  authors 
of  to-day  ought  to  be  before  trying  to  write.  This  prodigious 
amount  of  study  controlled  her  passions  far  better  than  a 
convent  life,  which  only  inflames  a  young  girl's  imagination ; 
this  brain,  crammed  with  undigested  and  unclassified  informa- 
tion, governed  the  heart  of  a  child.  Such  a  depravity  of 
mind,  absolutely  devoid  of  any  influence  on  her  chastity  of 
person,  would  have  amazed  a  philosopher  or  an  observer,  if 


BEATRIX.  63 

any  one  at  Nantes  could  have  suspected  the  fine  qualities  of 
Mademoiselle  des  Touches. 

The  result  was  in  inverse  proportion  to  the  cause  :  Felicity 
had  no  predisposition  toward  evil ;  she  conceived  of  every- 
thing by  her  intelligence,  but  held  aloof  from  the  facts.  She 
delighted  old  Faucombe  and  helped  him  in  his  works,  writ- 
ing three  books  for  the  worthy  gentleman,  who  believed  them 
to  be  his  own,  for  his  spiritual  paternity  also  was  blind.  Such 
severe  work,  out  of  harmony  with  the  development  of  her 
girlhood,  had  its  natural  effect :  Felicite  fell  ill,  there  was  a 
fever  in  her  blood,  her  lungs  were  threatened  with  inflamma- 
tion. The  doctors  ordered  her  horse-exercise  and  social 
amusements.  Mademoiselle  des  Touches  became  a  splendid 
horsewoman,  and  had  recovered  in  a  few  months. 

At  eighteen  she  made  her  appearance  in  the  world,  where 
she  produced  sucli  a  sensation  that  at  Nantes  she  was  never 
called  anything  but  the  beautiful  Mademoiselle  des  Touches. 
But  the  adoration  of  which  she  was  the  object  left  her  insen- 
sible, and  she  had  come  to  this  by  the  influence  of  one  of  the 
sentiments  which  are  imperishable  in  a  woman,  however  su- 
perior she  may  be.  Snubbed  by  her  aunt  and  cousins,  who 
laughed  at  her  studies  and  made  fun  of  her  distant  manners, 
assuming  that  she  was  incapable  of  being  attractive,  F61icit6 
aimed  at  being  light  and  coquettish — in  short,  a  woman.  She 
had  expected  to  find  some  interchange  of  ideas,  some  fascina- 
tion on  a  level  with  her  own  lofty  intelligence;  she  was  dis- 
gusted by  the  commonplaces  of  ordinary  conversation  and  the 
nonsense  of  flirtation  ;  above  all,  she  was  provoked  by  the 
aristocratic  airs  of  the  military,  to  whom  at  that  time  every- 
thing gave  way. 

She  had,  as  a  matter  of  course,  neglected  the  drawing-room 
arts.  When  she  found  herself  less  considered  than  the  dolls 
who  could  play  the  piano  and  make  themselves  agreeable  by 
singing  ballads,  she  aspired  to  become  a  musician.  She  re- 
tired into  deep  solitude  and  set  to  work  to  study  unremittingly 


64  BEATRIX. 

under  the  guidance  of  the  best  master  in  the  town.  She  was 
rich,  she  sent  for  Steibelt  to  give  her  finishing  lessons,  to  the 
great  astonishment  of  her  neighbors.  This  princely  outlay  is 
still  remembered  at  Nantes.  The  master's  stay  there  cost  her 
twelve  thousand  francs.  She  became  at  last  a  consummate 
musician.  Later,  in  Paris,  she  took  lessons  in  harmony  and 
counterpoint,  and  composed  two  operas,  which  were  im- 
mensely successful,  though  the  public  never  knew  her  secret. 
These  operas  were  ostensibly  the  work  of  Conti,  one  of  the 
most  eminent  artists  of  our  day ;  but  this  circumstance  was 
connected  with  the  history  of  her  heart  and  will  be  explained 
presently.  The  mediocrity  of  provincial  society  wearied  her 
so  excessively,  her  imagination  was  full  of  such  grand  ideas,  that 
she  withdrew  from  all  the  drawing-rooms  after  reappearing  for 
a  time  to  eclipse  all  other  women  by  the  splendor  of  her 
beauty,  to  enjoy  her  triumph  over  the  musical  performers,  and 
win  the  devotion  of  all  clever  people ;  still,  after  proving  her 
power  to  her  two  cousins  and  driving  two  lovers  to  despera- 
tion, she  came  back  to  her  books,  to  her  piano,  to  the  works 
of  Beethoven,  and  to  old  Faucombe. 

In  1812  she  was  one-and- twenty ;  the  archaeologist  ac- 
counted to  her  for  his  management  of  her  property  ;  and  from 
that  time  forth  she  herself  controlled  her  fortune,  consisting 
of  fifteen  thousand  francs  a  year  from  les  Touches,  her  father's 
estate ;  twelve  thousand  francs,  the  income  at  that  time  from 
the  lands  of  Faucombe,  which  increased  by  a  third  when  the 
leases  were  renewed ;  beside  a  capital  sum  of  three  hundred 
thousand  francs  saved  by  her  guardian.  Felicite  derived 
nothing  from  her  country  training  but  an  apprehension  of 
money  matters,  and  that  instinct  for  wise  administration 
which  perhaps  restores,  in  the  provinces,  the  balance  against 
the  constant  tendency  of  capital  to  centre  in  Paris.  She  with- 
drew her  three  hundred  thousand  francs  from  the  bank  where 
the  archaeologist  had  deposited  them,  and  invested  in  consols 
just  at  the  time  of  the  disastrous  retreat  from  Moscow.    Thus 


BEATRIX.  95 

she  had  thirty  thousand  francs  a  year  more.  When  all  her 
expenses  were  paid  she  had  a  surplus  of  fifty  thousand  francs 
a  year  to  be  invested. 

A  girl  of  one-and-twenty,  with  such  a  power  of  will,  was  a 
match  for  a  man  of  thirty.  Her  intellect  had  gained  immense 
breadth  and  habits  of  criticism,  which  enabled  her  to  judge 
sanely  of  men  and  things,  art  and  politics.  Thenceforward 
she  purposed  leaving  Nantes ;  but  old  Monsieur  Faucombe  fell 
ill  of  the  malady  that  carried  him  off.  She  was  like  a  wife  to 
the  old  man ;  she  nursed  him  for  eighteen  months  with  the 
devotion  of  a  guardian  angel,  and  closed  his  eyes  at  the  very 
time  when  Napoleon  was  fighting  with  Europe  over  the  dead 
body  of  France,  She  therefore  postponed  her  departure  for 
Paris  till  the  end  of  the  war. 

As  a  Royalist  she  flew  to  hail  the  return  of  the  Bourbons  to 
Paris.  She  was  welcomed  there  by  the  Grandlieus,  with 
whom  she  was  distantly  connected ;  but  then  befell  the  catas- 
trophe of  the  2oth  of  March,  and  everything  remained  in 
suspense.  She  had  the  opportunity  of  seeing  on  the  spot  this 
last  resurrection  of  the  Empire,  of  admiring  the  "Grand 
Army"  which  came  out  on  the  Champ  de  Mars,  as  in  an 
arena,  to  salute  its  Caesar  before  dying  at  Waterloo.  Felicity's 
great  and  lofty  soul  was  captivated  by  the  magical  spectacle. 
Political  agitations  and  the  fairy  transformations  of  the  theat- 
rical drama,  lasting  for  three  months,  and  known  as  the  Hun- 
dred Days,  absorbed  her  wholly,  and  preserved  her  from  any 
passion,  in  the  midst  of  an  upheaval  that  broke  up  the  Royalist 
circle  in  which  she  had  first  come  out.  The  Grandlieus  fol- 
lowed the  Bourbons  to  Ghent,  leaving  their  house  at  Made- 
moiselle des  Touches'  service. 

Felicite,  who  could  not  accept  a  dependent  position,  bought 
for  the  sum  of  a  hundred  and  thirty  thousand  francs  one  of 
the  handsomest  mansions  in  the  Rue  du  Mont-Blanc,  where 
she  settled  on  the  return  of  the  Bourbons  in  1815  ;  the  garden 
alone  is  worth  two  million  francs  now.  Being  accustomed  to 
5 


66  BEATRIX. 

act  on  her  own  responsibility,  Felicity  soon  took  the  habit  of 
independent  action,  which  seems  the  privilege  of  men  only. 
In  1816  she  was  five-and-twenty.  She  knew  nothing  of  mar- 
riage ;  she  conceived  of  it  only  in  her  brain,  judged  of  it  by 
its  causes  instead  of  observing  its  effect,  and  saw  only  its  dis- 
advantages. Her  superior  mind  rebelled  against  the  abdica- 
tion which  begins  the  life  of  a  married  woman  ;  she  keenly  felt 
the  preciousness  of  independence  and  had  nothing  but  disgust 
for  the  cares  of  motherhood.  These  details  are  necessary  to 
justify  the  anomalies  that  characterize  Camille  Maupin.  She 
never  knew  father  or  mother,  she  was  her  own  mistress  from 
her  childhood,  her  guardian  was  an  old  antiquary,  chance 
placed  her  in  the  domain  of  science  and  imagination,  in  the 
literary  world,  instead  of  keeping  her  within  the  circle  drawn 
by  the  futile  education  given  to  women — a  mother's  lectures 
on  dress,  on  the  hypocritical  proprieties  and  man-hunting 
graces  of  her  sex.  And  so,  long  before  she  became  famous, 
it  could  be  seen  at  a  glance  that  she  had  never  played  the  doll. 

Toward  the  end  of  the  year  18 17  Felicite  des  Touches  per- 
ceived that  her  face  showed  symptoms  not  indeed  of  fading, 
but  of  the  beginning  of  fatigue.  She  understood  that  her 
beauty  would  suffer  from  the  fact  of  her  persistent  celibacy ; 
she  was  bent  on  remaining  beautiful,  for  at  that  time  she 
prized  her  beauty.  Knowledge  warned  her  of  the  doom  set 
by  Nature  on  her  creations,  which  deteriorate  as  much  by 
misapplication  as  by  ignorance  of  her  laws.  The  vision  of  her 
aunt's  emaciated  face  rose  before  her  and  made  her  shudder. 
Thus  placed  between  marriage  and  passion,  she  determined  to 
remain  free ;  but  she  no  longer  scorned  the  homage  that  she 
met  with  on  all  hands. 

At  the  date  when  this  story  begins  she  was  almost  the  same 
as  she  had  been  in  181 7.  Eighteen  years  had  passed  over  her 
and  left  her  still  untouched ;  at  the  age  of  forty  she  might  have 
called  herself  twenty-five.  Thus  a  picture  of  her  in  1836  will 
fepresent  her  as  she  was  in  181 7.     Women  who  know  under 


BEATRIX.  67 

what  conditions  of  temperament  and  beauty  a  woman  must 
live  to  resist  the  attacks  of  time  will  understand  how  and  why 
Felicite  des  Touches  enjoyed  such  high  privileges,  as  they 
study  a  portrait  for  which  the  most  glowing  colors  of  the 
palette  and  the  richest  setting  must  be  brought  into  play. 

Brittany  offers  a  singular  problem  in  the  predominance  of 
brown  hair,  brown  eyes,  and  a  dark  complexion,  in  a  country 
so  close  to  England,  where  the  atmospheric  conditions  are  so 
nearly  similar.  Does  the  question  turn  on  the  wider  one  of 
race  or  on  unobserved  physical  influences  ?  Scientific  men 
will  some  day  perhaps  inquire  into  the  cause  of  this  peculi- 
arity, which  does  not  exist  in  the  neighboring  province  of 
Normandy.  Pending  its  solution,  the  strange  fact  lies  before 
us  that  fair  women  are  rare  among  the  women  of  Brittany, 
who  almost  always  have  the  brilliant  eyes  of  Southerners; 
but,  instead  of  showing  the  tall  figures  and  serpentine  grace 
of  Italy  or  Spain,  they  are  usually  small,  short,  with  neat,  set 
figures,  excepting  some  women  of  the  upper  classes  which 
have  been  crossed  by  aristocratic  alliances. 

Mademoiselle  des  Touches,  a  thoroughbred  Bretonne,  is  of 
medium  height,  about  five  feet,  though  she  looks  taller.  This 
illusion  is  produced  by  the  character  of  her  countenance, 
which  gives  her  dignity.  She  has  the  complexion  which  is 
characteristic  of  Italian  beauty,  pale  olive  by  day,  and  white 
under  artificial  light ;  you  might  think  it  was  animated  ivory. 
Light  glides  over  such  a  skin  as  over  a  polished  surface,  it 
glistens  on  it ;  only  strong  emotion  can  bring  a  faint  flush  to 
the  middle  of  each  cheek,  and  it  disappears  at  once.  This 
peculiarity  gives  her  face  the  placidity  of  a  savage.  The 
face,  long  rather  than  oval,  resembles  that  of  some  beautiful 
Isis  in  the  bas-reliefs  of  Egina ;  it  has  the  purity  of  a  Sphinx's 
head,  polislied  by  desert  fires,  lovingly  touched  by  the  flame 
of  the  Egyptian  sun.  Her  hair,  black  and  thick,  falls  in 
plaited  loops  over  her  neck,  like  the  head-dress  with  ridged 
double  locks  of   the  statues  at  Memphis,  accentuating  very 


68  BE  A  TRIX. 

finely  the  general  severity  of  her  features.  She  has  a  full, 
broad  forehead,  bossy  at  the  temples,  bright  with  its  smooth 
surface  on  which  the  light  lingers,  and  moulded  like  that  of  a 
hunting  Diana;  a  powerful,  willful  brow,  calm  and  still. 
The  eyebrows,  strongly  arched,  bend  over  eyes  in  which  the 
fire  sparkles  now  and  again  like  that  of  fixed  stars.  The  white 
of  the  eye  is  not  bluish,  nor  veined  with  red,  nor  is  it  pure 
white ;  its  texture  looks  horny,  still  it  is  warm  in  tone ;  the 
black  centre  has  an  orange  ring  round  the  edge  ;  it  is  bronze 
set  in  gold — but  living  gold,  animated  bronze.  The  pupil  is 
deep.  It  is  not,  as  in  some  eyes,  lined,  as  it  were,  like  a 
mirror,  reflecting  the  light,  and  making  them  look  like  the 
eyes  of  tigers  and  cats ;  it  has  not  that  terrible  fixity  of  gaze 
that  makes  sensitive  persons  shiver ;  but  this  depth  has  infini- 
tude, just  as  the  brightness  of  mirror-eyes  has  finality.  The 
gaze  of  the  observer  can  sink  and  lose  itself  in  that  soul, 
which  can  shrink  and  retire  as  rapidly  as  it  can  flash  forth 
from  those  velvet  eyes.  In  a  moment  of  passion  Camille 
Maupin's  eye  is  superb;  the  gold  of  her  glance  lights  up  the 
yellowish  white,  and  the  whole  flashes  fire  ;  but  when  at  rest 
it  is  dull,  the  torpor  of  deep  thought  often  gives  it  a  look  of 
stupidity ;  and  when  the  light  of  the  soul  is  absent,  the  lines 
of  the  face  also  look  sad.  The  lashes  are  short,  but  as  black 
and  thick-set  as  the  hair  of  an  ermine's  tail.  The  lids  are 
tawny,  and  netted  with  fine  red  veins,  giving  them  at  once 
strength  and  elegance,  two  qualities  hard  to  combine  in 
women.  All  round  the  eyes  there  is  not  the  faintest  wrinkle 
or  stain.  Here  again  you  will  think  of  Egyptian  granite 
mellowed  by  time.  Only  the  cheek-bones,  though  softly 
rounded,  are  more  prominent  than  in  most  women,  and  con- 
firm the  impression  of  strength  stamped  on  the  face. 

Her  nose,  narrow  and  straight,  has  high-cut  nostrils,  with 
enough  of  passionate  dilation  to  show  the  rosy  gleam  of  their 
delicate  lining ;  this  nose  is  well  set  on  to  the  brow,  to  which 
it  is  joined  by  an  exquisite  curve,  and  it  is  perfectly  white  to 


BEATRIX.  e» 

the  very  tip — a  tip  endowed  with  a  sort  of  proper  motion  that 
works  wonders  whenever  Camille  is  angry,  indignant,  or  re- 
bellious. There  especially — as  Talma  noted — the  rage  of 
irony  of  lofty  souls  finds  expression.  Rigid  nostrils  betray  a 
certain  shallowness.  The  nose  of  a  miser  never  quivers,  it  is 
tightly  set  like  his  lips ;  everything  in  his  face  is  as  close  shut 
as  himself. 

Camille's  mouth,  arched  at  the  corners,  is  brightly  red;  the 
lips,  full  of  blood,  supply  that  living,  impulsive  carmine  that 
gives  them  such  infinite  charm  and  may  reassure  the  lover 
who  might  be  alarmed  by  the  grave  majesty  of  the  face.  The 
upper  lip  is  thin,  the  furrow  beneath  the  nose  dents  it  low 
down,  like  a  bow,  which  gives  peculiar  emphasis  to  her  scorn. 
Camille  has  no  difficulty  in  expressing  anger.  This  pretty  lip 
meets  the  broader  red  edge  of  a  lower  lip  that  is  exquisitely 
kind,  full  of  love,  and  carved,  it  might  be,  by  Phidias,  as  the 
edge  of  an  opened  pomegranate,  which  it  resembles  in  color. 
The  chin  is  round  and  firm,  a  little  heavy,  but  expressing  de- 
termination, and  finishing  well  this  royal,  if  not  goddess-like, 
profile.  It  is  necessary  to  add  that  below  the  nose  the  lip  is 
faintly  shaded  by  a  down  that  is  wholly  charming;  nature 
would  have  blundered  if  she  had  not  there  placed  that  tender 
smoky  tinge. 

The  ear  is  most  delicately  formed,  a  sign  of  other  concealed 
daintinesses.  The  bust  broad,  the  bosom  small  but  not  flat, 
the  hips  slender  but  graceful.  The  slope  of  the  back  is  mag- 
nificent, more  suggestive  of  the  Bacchus  than  of  the  Venus 
Callipyge.  Herein  we  see  a  detail  that  distinguishes  almost 
all  famous  women  from  the  rest  of  their  sex  ;  they  have  in  this 
a  vague  resemblance  to  men;  they  have  neither  the  pliancy 
nor  the  freedom  of  line  that  we  see  in  women  destined  by 
nature  to  be  mothers  ;  their  gait  is  unbroken  by  a  gentle  sway. 
This  observation  is,  indeed,  two-edged  ;  it  has  its  counterpart 
in  men  whose  hips  have  a  resemblance  to  those  of  women — 
men  who  are  cunning,  sly,  false,  and  cowardly. 


70  BEATRIX. 

Camille's  head,  instead  of  having  a  hollow  at  the  nape  of 
the  neck,  is  set  on  her  shoulders  with  a  swelling  outline  with- 
out an  inward  curve,  an  unmistakable  sign  of  power ;  and 
this  neck,  in  some  attitudes,  has  folds  of  athletic  firmness. 
The  muscles  attaching  the  upper  arm,  splendidly  moulded,  are 
those  of  a  colossal  woman.  The  arm  is  powerfully  modeled, 
ending  in  wrists  of  English  slenderness  and  pretty  delicate 
hands,  plump  and  full  of  dimples,  finished  off  with  pink  nails 
cut  to  an  almond  shape,  and  well  set  in  the  flesh.  Her  hands 
are  of  a  whiteness  which  proclaims  that  all  the  body,  full, 
firm,  and  solid,  is  of  a  quite  different  tone  from  her  face. 
The  cold,  steadfast  carriage  of  her  head  is  contradicted  by  the 
ready  mobility  of  the  lips,  their  varying  expression,  and  the 
sensitive  nostrils  of  an  artist. 

Still,  in  spite  of  this  exciting  promise,  not  wholly  visible  to 
the  profane,  there  is  something  provoking  in  the  calmness  of 
this  countenance.  The  face  is  melancholy  and  serious  rather 
than  gracious,  stamped  with  the  sadness  of  constant  medita- 
tion. Mademoiselle  des  Touches  listens  more  than  she  speaks. 
She  is  alarming  by  her  silence  and  that  look  of  deep  scrutiny. 
Nobody  among  really  well-informed  persons  can  ever  have 
seen  her  without  thinking  of  the  real  Cleopatra,  the  little 
brown  woman  who  so  nearly  changed  the  face  of  the  earth ; 
but  in  Camille  the  animal  is  so  perfect,  so  homogeneous,  so 
truly  leonine,  that  a  man  with  anything  of  the  Turk  in  him 
regrets  the  embodiment  of  so  great  a  mind  in  such  a  frame, 
and  wishes  it  were  altogether  woman.  Every  one  fears  lest  he 
may  find  there  the  strange  corruption  of  a  diabolical  soul. 
Do  not  cold  analysis  and  positive  ideas  throw  their  light  upon 
the  passions  in  this  unwedded  soul?  In  her  does  not  judg- 
ment take  the  place  of  feeling?  Or,  a  still  more  terrible 
phenomenon,  does  she  not  feel  and  judge  both  together? 
Her  brain  being  omnipotent,  can  she  stop  where  other  women 
stop?  Has  the  intellectual  powers  left  the  affections  weak? 
Can  she  be  gracious  ?     Can  she  condescend  to  the  pathetic 


BE  A  TRIX.  71 

trifles  by  which  a  woman  busies,  amuses,  and  interests  the 
man  she  loves?  Does  she  not  crush  a  sentiment  at  once  if  it 
does  not  answer  to  the  infinite  that  she  apprehends  and  con- 
templates?    Who  can  fill  up  the  gulfs  in  her  eyes? 

We  fear  lest  we  should  find  in  her  some  mysterious  element 
of  unsubdued  virginity.  The  strength  of  a  woman  ought  to 
be  merely  symbolical ;  we  are  frightened  at  finding  it  real. 
Camille  Maupin  is  in  some  degree  the  living  image  of  Schiller's 
Isis,  hidden  in  the  depths  of  the  temple,  at  whose  feet  the 
priests  found  the  dying  gladiators  who  had  dared  to  consult 
her.  Her  various  "affairs,"  believed  in  by  the  world,  and 
not  denied  by  Camille  herself,  confirm  the  doubts  suggested 
by  her  appearance.  But  perhaps  she  enjoys  this  calumny? 
The  character  of  her  beauty  has  not  been  without  effect  on 
her  reputation  ;  it  has  helped  her,  just  as  her  fortune  and 
position  have  upheld  her  in  the  midst  of  society.  If  a  sculptor 
should  wish  to  make  an  admirable  statue  of  Brittany,  he  might 
copy  Mademoiselle  des  Touches.  Such  a  sanguine,  bilious 
temperament  alone  can  withstand  the  action  of  time.  The 
perennially  nourished  texture  of  such  a  skin,  as  it  were  var- 
nished, is  the  only  weapon  given  to  women  by  nature  to  ward 
off  wrinkles,  which  in  Camille  are  hindered  also  by  the  pas- 
sivity of  her  features. 

In  1817  this  enchanting  woman  threw  open  her  house  to 
artists,  famous  authors,  learned  men,  and  journalists,  the  men 
to  whom  she  was  instinctively  attracted.  She  had  a  drawing- 
room  like  that  of  Baron  Gerard,  where  the  aristocracy  mingled 
with  distinguished  talents  and  the  cream  of  Parisian  woman- 
hood. Mademoiselle  des  Touches'  family  connections  and 
her  fine  fortune,  now  augmented  by  that  of  her  aunt  the  nun, 
protected  her  in  her  undertaking — a  difficult  one  in  Paris — of 
forming  a  circle.  Her  independence  was  one  cause  of  her 
success.  Many  ambitious  mothers  dreamed  of  getting  her  to 
marry  a  son  whose  wealth  was  disproportioned  to  the  splendor 
of  his  armorial  bearings.     Certain  peers  of  France,  attracted 


72  BEATRIX. 

by  her  eighty  thousand  francs  a  year,  and  tempted  by  her 
splendid  house  and  establishment,  brought  the  strictest  and 
most  fastidious  ladies  of  their  family.  The  diplomatic  world, 
on  the  lookout  for  wit  and  amusement,  came  and  found  pleas- 
ure there. 

Thus  Mademoiselle  des  Touches,  the  centre  of  so  many 
interests,  could  study  the  different  comedies  which  all  men, 
even  the  most  distinguished,  are  led  to  play  by  passion,  ava- 
rice, or  ambition.  She  soon  saw  the  world  as  it  really  is,  and 
was  so  fortunate  as  not  to  fall  at  once  into  such  an  absorbing 
love  as  engrosses  a  woman's  intellect  and  faculties  and  pre- 
vents her  wholesome  judgment.  Generally  a  woman  feels, 
enjoys,  and  judges,  each  in  turn  ;  hence  three  ages,  the  last 
coinciding  with  the  sad  period  of  old  age.  To  Felicite  the 
order  was  reversed.  Her  youth  was  shrouded  in  the  snows 
of  science,  the  chill  of  thoughtfulness.  This  transposition 
also  explains  the  oddity  of  her  life  and  the  character  of  her 
talents.  She  was  studying  men  at  the  age  when  most  women 
see  but  one ;  she  despised  what  they  admire ;  she  detected 
falsehood  in  the  flatteries  they  accept  as  truth ;  she  laughed  at 
what  makes  them  serious. 

This  contradictory  state  lasted  a  long  time ;  it  had  a  dis- 
astrous termination ;  it  was  her  fate  to  find  her  first  love, 
new-born  and  tender  in  her  heart,  at  an  age  when  women  are 
required  by  nature  to  renounce  love.  Her  first  entanglement 
was  kept  so  secret  that  no  one  ever  knew  of  it.  Felicite,  like 
all  women  who  believe  in  the  commonsense  of  their  feelings, 
was  led  to  count  on  finding  a  beautiful  soul  in  a  beautiful 
body;  she  fell  in  love  with  a  face  and  discovered  all  the 
foolishness  of  a  lady's  man,  who  thought  of  her  merely  as  a 
woman.  It  took  her  some  time  to  get  over  her  disgust  and 
this  mad  connection.  Another  man  guessed  her  trouble,  and 
consoled  her  without  looking  for  any  return,  or  at  any  rate  he 
concealed  his  purpose.  F6licit6  thought  she  had  found  the 
magnanimity  of  heart  and  mind  that  the  dandy  had  lacked. 


BEATRIX.  73 

This  man  had  one  of  the  most  original  intellects  of  the  day. 
He  himself  wrote  under  a  pseudonym,  and  his  first  works  re- 
vealed him  as  an  admirer  of  Italy.  F6licit6  must  needs  travel 
or  perpetuate  the  only  form  of  ignorance  in  which  she  re- 
mained. This  man,  a  skeptic  and  a  scoffer,  took  Felicite  to 
study  the  land  of  art.  This  famous  "Anonymous  "  may  be 
regarded  as  Camille  Maupin's  teacher  and  creator.  He  re- 
duced her  vast  information  to  order,  he  added  to  it  a  knowl- 
edge of  the  masterpieces  of  which  Italy  is  full,  and  gave  her 
that  subtle  and  ingenious  tone,  epigrammatic  and  yet  deep, 
which  is  characteristic  of  his  talent — always  a  little  eccentric 
in  its  expression — but  modified  in  Camille  Maupin  by  the 
delicate  feeling  and  the  ingenious  turn  natural  to  women  ;  he 
inoculated  her  with  a  taste  for  the  works  of  English  and  Ger- 
man literature,  and  made  her  learn  the  two  languages  while 
traveling. 

At  Rome,  in  1820,  Mademoiselle  des  Touches  found  herself 
deserted  for  an  Italian.  But  for  this  disaster  she  might  never 
have  become  really  famous.  Napoleon  once  said  that  Misfor- 
tune was  midwife  to  Genius.  This  event  also  gave  Made- 
moiselle des  Touches  at  once  and  for  ever  the  scorn  of  man- 
kind, which  is  her  great  strength.  F6licit6  was  now  dead 
and  Camille  was  born. 

She  returned  to  Paris  in  the  company  of  Conti,  the  great 
musician,  for  whom  she  wrote  the  libretti  of  two  operas ;  but 
she  had  no  illusions  left,  and  became,  though  the  world  did 
not  know  it,  a  sort  of  female  Don  Juan — without  either  debts 
or  conquests.  Encouraged  by  success,  she  published  the  two 
volumes  of  dramas  which  immediately  placed  Camille  Maupin 
among  the  anonymous  celebrities.  She  told  the  story  of  her 
betrayed  love  in  an  admirable  little  romance,  one  of  the 
masterpieces  of  the  time.  This  book,  a  dangerous  example, 
was  compared  and  on  a  level  with  "Adolphe,"  a  horrible 
lament,  of  which  the  counterpart  was  found  in  Camille's  tale. 
The  delicate  nature  of  her  literary  disguise  is  not  yet  fully 


74  BEATRIX. 

understood ;  some  refined  intelligences  still  see  nothing  in  it 
but  the  magnanimity  that  subjects  a  man  to  criticism  and 
screens  a  woman  from  fame  by  allowing  her  to  remain  un- 
known. 

In  spite  of  herself,  her  reputation  grew  every  day,  as  much 
by  the  influence  of  her  Salon  as  for  her  repartees,  the  sound- 
ness of  her  judgment,  and  the  solidity  of  her  acquirements. 
She  was  regarded  as  an  authority,  her  witticisms  were  re- 
peated, she  could  not  abdicate  the  functions  with  which 
Parisian  society  invested  her.  She  became  a  recognized  excep- 
tion. The  fashionable  world  bowed  to  the  talent  and  the 
wealth  of  this  strange  girl ;  it  acknowledged  and  sanctioned 
her  independence ;  women  admired  her  gifts  and  men  her 
beauty.  Indeed,  her  conduct  was  always  ruled  by  the  social 
proprieties.  Her  friendships  seemed  to  be  entirely  Platonic. 
There  was  nothing  of  the  authoress — the  female  author — about 
her ;  as  a  woman  of  the  world  Mademoiselle  des  Touches  is 
delightful — weak  at  appropriate  moments,  indolent,  coquettish, 
devoted  to  dress,  charmed  with  the  trivialities  that  appeal  to 
women  and  poets. 

She  perfectly  understood  that  after  Madame  de  Stael  there 
was  no  place  in  this  century  for  a  Sappho,  and  that  no  Ninon 
could  exist  in  Paris  when  there  were  no  great  lords,  no  volup- 
tuous court.  She  is  the  Ninon  of  intellect ;  she  adores  art 
and  artists ;  she  goes  from  the  poet  to  the  musician,  from  the 
sculptor  to  the  prose-writer.  She  is  full  of  a  noble  generosity 
that  verges  on  credulity,  so  ready  is  she  to  pity  misfortune 
and  to  disdain  the  fortunate.  Since  1830  she  has  lived  in  a 
chosen  circle  of  proved  friends,  who  truly  love  and  esteem 
each  other.  She  dwells  far  removed  from  such  turmoil  as 
Madame  de  Stael's,  and  not  less  far  from  political  conflict ; 
and  she  makes  great  fun  of  Camille  Maupin  as  the  younger 
brother  of  George  Sand,*  of  whom  she  speaks  as  "Brother 
Cain,"  for  this  new  glory  has  killed  her  own.  Mademoiselle 
*  See  Preface. 


BEATRIX.  TO 

des  Touches  admires  her  happier  rival  with  angelic  readiness, 
without  any  feeling  of  jealousy  or  covert  envy. 

Until  the  time  when  this  story  opens  she  had  led  the  hap- 
piest life  conceivable  for  a  woman  who  is  strong  enough  to 
take  care  of  herself.  She  had  come  to  les  Touches  five  or 
six  times  between  1817  and  1834.  Her  first  visit  had  been 
made  just  after  her  first  disenchantment,  in  1818.  Her  house 
at  les  Touches  was  uninhabitable  3  she  sent  her  steward  to 
Guerande,  and  took  his  little  house  at  les  Touches.  As  yet 
she  had  no  suspicion  of  her  coming  fame ;  she  was  sad,  she 
would  see  no  one ;  she  wanted  to  contemplate  herself,  as  it 
were,  after  this  great  catastrophe.  She  wrote  to  a  lady  in 
Paris,  a  friend,  explaining  her  intentions,  and  giving  instruc- 
tions for  furniture  to  be  sent  for  les  Touches.  The  things 
came  by  ship  to  Nantes,  were  transhipped  to  a  smaller  boat 
for  le  Croisic,  and  thence  were  carried,  not  without  difficulty, 
across  the  sands  to  les  Touches.  She  sent  for  workmen  from 
Paris,  and  settled  herself  at  les  Touches,  which  she  particu- 
larly liked.  She  meant  to  meditate  there  on  the  events  of 
life,  as  in  a  little  private  chartreuse. 

At  the  beginning  of  winter  she  returned  to  Paris.  Then 
the  little  town  of  Guerande  was  torn  by  diabolical  curiosity  ; 
nothing  was  talked  of  but  the  Asiatic  luxury  of  Mademoiselle 
des  Touches.  The  notary,  her  agent,  gave  tickets  to  admit 
visitors  to  les  Touches,  and  people  came  from  Batz,  from  le 
Croisic,  and  from  Savenay.  This  curiosity  produced  in  two 
years  the  enormous  sum  for  the  gatekeeper  and  gardener  of 
seventeen  francs. 

Mademoiselle  did  not  come  there  again  till  two  years  later, 
on  her  return  from  Italy,  and  arrived  by  le  Croisic.  For 
some  time  no  one  knew  that  she  was  at  Guerande,  and  with 
her  Conti  the  composer.  Her  appearance  at  intervals  did 
not  greatly  excite  the  curiosity  of  the  little  town  of  Gudrande. 
Her  steward  and  the  notary  at  most  had  been  in  the  secret  of 
Camille  Maupin's  fame.     By  this  time,  however,  new  ideas 


76  BEATRIX. 

had  made  some  little  progress  at  Guerande,  and  several  per- 
sons knew  of  Mademoiselle  des  Touches'  double  existence. 
The  postmaster  got  letters  addressed  to  "  Camille  Maupin, 
aux  Touches." 

At  last  the  veil  was  rent.  In  a  district  so  essentially  Cath- 
olic, old-world,  and  full  of  prejudices,  the  strange  life  led  by 
this  illustrious  and  unmarried  woman  could  not  fail  to  Start 
the  rumors  which  had  frightened  the  Abbe  Grimont ;  it  could 
never  be  understood  ;  she  seemed  an  anomaly. 

Felicite  was  not  alone  at  les  Touches ;  she  had  a  guest. 
This  visitor  was  Claud  Vignon,  the  haughty  and  contemptu- 
ous writer,  who,  though  he  has  never  published  anything  but 
criticism,  has  impressed  the  public  and  literary  circles  with 
an  idea  of  his  superiority.  Felicite,  who  for  the  last  seven 
years  had  made  this  writer  welcome,  as  she  had  a  hundred 
others — authors,  journalists,  artists,  and  people  of  fashion — 
who  knew  his  inelastic  temperament,  his  idleness,  his  utter 
poverty,  his  carelessness,  and  his  disgust  at  things  in  general, 
seemed  by  her  behavior  to  him  to  wish  to  marry  him.  She 
explained  her  conduct,  incomprehensible  to  her  friends, 
by  her  ambition  and  the  horror  she  felt  of  growing  old  ; 
she  wanted  to  place  the  rest  of  her  life  in  the  hands  of  a 
superior  man  for  whom  her  fortune  might  be  a  stepping- 
stone,  and  who  would  uphold  her  importance  in  the  literary 
world.  So  she  had  carried  off  Claud  Vignon  from  Paris  to 
les  Touches,  as  an  eagle  takes  a  kid  in  his  talons,  to  study 
him  and  take  some  vehement  step ;  but  she  was  deceiving 
both  Calyste  and  Claud — she  was  not  thinking  of  marriage. 
She  was  in  the  most  violent  throes  that  can  convulse  a  soul 
so  firm  as  hers,  for  she  found  herself  the  dupe  of  her  own  in- 
tellect, and  saw  her  life  illuminated  too  late  by  the  sunshine 
of  love,  glowing  as  it  glows  in  the  heart  of  a  girl  of  twenty. 

Now  for  a  picture  of  Camille's  "  Chartreuse." 

At  a  few  hundred  paces  from  Guerande  the  terra  firma  of 
Brittany  ends  and  the  salt-marshes  and  sand-hills  begin.     A 


I 


BEATRIX.  77 

rugged  road,  to  which  vehicles  are  unknown,  leads  down  a 
ravine  to  the  desert  of  sands  left  by  the  sea  as  neutral  ground 
between  the  waters  and  the  land.  This  desert  consists  of 
barren  hills,  of  "pans"  of  various  sizes  edged  with  a  ridge 
of  clay,  in  which  the  salt  is  collected,  of  the  creek  which 
divides  the  mainland  from  the  island  of  le  Croisic,  Though 
in  geography  le  Croisic  is  a  peninsula,  as  it  is  attached  to 
Brittany  only  by  the  strand  between  it  and  the  Bourg  de  Batz, 
a  shifting  bottom  which  it  is  very  difficult  to  cross,  it  may  be 
regarded  as  an  island.  At  an  angle  where  the  road  from  le 
Croisic  to  Guerande  joins  the  road  on  the  mainland  stands  a 
country  house,  inclosed  in  a  large  garden  remarkable  for  its 
wrung  and  distorted  pine  trees — some  spreading  parasol-like 
at  the  top,  others  stripped  of  their  boughs,  and  all  showing 
red  scarred  trunks  where  the  bark  has  been  torn  away.  These 
trees,  martyrs  to  the  storm,  growing  literally  in  spite  of  wind 
and  tide,  prepare  the  mind  for  the  melancholy  and  strange 
spectacle  of  the  salt-marshes  and  the  sand-hills  looking  like 
solidified  waves. 

The  house,  well  built  of  schistose  stone  and  cement  held 
together  by  courses  of  granite,  has  no  pretensions  to  archi- 
tecture ;  the  eye  sees  only  a  bare  wall,  regularly  pierced  by 
the  windows ;  those  on  the  second  floor  have  large  panes,  on 
the  first  floor  small  quarries.  Above  the  second  floor  there 
are  lofts,  under  an  enormously  high-pointed  roof,  with  a  gable 
at  each  end,  and  two  large  dormers  on  each  side.  Under 
the  angle  of  each  gable  a  windo\v^  looks  out,  like  a  Cyclops' 
eye,  to  the  west  over  the  sea,  to  the  east  at  Guerande.  One 
side  of  the  house  faces  the  Guerande  road;  the  other  the 
waste  over  which  le  Croisic  is  seen,  and  beyond  that  the  open 
sea.  A  little  stream  escapes  through  an  opening  in  the  garden- 
wall  on  the  side  by  the  road  to  le  Croisic,  which  it  crosses, 
and  is  soon  lost  in  the  sand  or  in  the  little  pool  of  salt-water 
inclosed  by  the  sand-hills  and  marsh-land,  being  left  there  by 
the  arm  of  the  sea. 


78  BEATRIX. 

A  few  fathoms  of  roadway,  constructed  in  this  break  in  the 
soil,  leads  to  the  house.  It  is  entered  through  a  gate ;  the 
courtyard  is  surrounded  by  unpretentious  rural  outhouses — 
a  stable,  a  coach-house,  a  gardener's  cottage  with  a  poultry- 
yard  and  sheds  adjoining,  of  more  use  to  the  gatekeeper  than 
to  his  mistress.  The  gray  tones  of  this  building  harmonize 
delightfully  with  the  scenery  it  stands  in.  The  grounds  are 
an  oasis  in  this  desert,  on  the  edge  of  which  the  traveler  has 
passed  a  mud-hovel,  where  custom-house  officers  keep  guard. 
The  house,  with  no  lands,  or  rather  of  which  the  lands  lie  in 
the  district  of  Guerande,  derives  an  income  of  ten  thousand 
francs  from  the  marshes  and  from  farms  scattered  about  the 
mainland.  This  was  the  fief  of  les  Touches,  deprived  of  its 
feudal  revenues  by  the  Revolution.  Les  Touches  is  still  a 
property;  the  marshmen  still  speak  of  the  Castle,  and  they 
would  talk  of  the  Lord  if  the  owner  were  not  a  woman. 
When  Felicite  restored  les  Touches,  she  was  too  much  of  an 
artist  to  think  of  altering  the  desolate-looking  exterior  which 
gives  this  lonely  building  the  appearance  of  a  prison.  Only 
the  gate  was  improved  by  the  addition  of  two  brick  piers  with 
an  architrave,  under  which  a  carriage  can  drive  in.  The  court- 
yard was  planted. 

The  arrangement  of  the  first  floor  is  common  to  most  coun- 
try houses  built  a  hundred  years  ago.  The  dwelling  was 
evidently  constructed  on  the  ruins  of  a  little  castle  perched 
there  as  a  link  connecting  le  Croisic  and  Batz  with  Guerande, 
and  lording  it  over  the  marshes.  A  hall  had  been  contrived 
at  the  foot  of  the  stairs.  The  first  room  is  a  large  wainscoted 
anteroom  where  Felicite  has  a  billiard-table ;  next  comes  an 
immense  drawing-room  with  six  windows,  two  of  which,  at  the 
gable-end,  form  doors  leading  to  the  garden,  down  ten  steps, 
corresponding  in  the  arrangement  of  the  room  with  the  door 
into  the  billiard-room  and  that  into  the  dining-room.  The 
kitchen,  at  the  other  end,  communicates  with  the  dining-room 
through  the  pantry.     The  staircase  is  between  the  billiard- 


BEATRIX.  79 

room  and  the  kitchen,  which  formerly  had  a  door  into  the 
hall ;  this  Mademoiselle  des  Touches  closed,  and  opened  one 
to  the  courtyard. 

The  loftiness  and  spaciousness  of  the  rooms  enabled  Camille 
to  treat  this  first  floor  with  noble  simplicity.  She  was  careful 
not  to  introduce  any  elaboration  of  detail.  The  drawing- 
room,  painted  gray,  has  old  mahogany  furniture  with  green 
silk  cushions,  white  cotton  window-curtains  bordered  with 
green,  two  consoles,  and  a  round  table ;  in  the  middle  is  a 
carpet  with  a  large  pattern  in  squares ;  over  the  huge  chimney- 
place  are  an  immense  mirror  and  a  clock  representing  Apollo's 
car,  between  candelabra  of  the  style  of  the  Empire.  The  bil- 
liard-room has  gray  cotton  curtains,  bordered  with  green, 
and  two  divans.  The  dining-room  furniture  consists  of  four 
large  mahogany  sideboards,  a  table,  twelve  mahogany  chairs 
with  horsehair  seats,  and  some  magnificent  engravings  by 
Audran  in  mahogany  frames.  From  the  middle  of  the  ceiling 
hangs  an  elegant  lamp  such  as  were  usual  on  the  staircases  of 
fine  houses,  with  two  lights.  All  the  ceilings  and  the  beams 
supporting  them  are  painted  to  imitate  wood.  The  old  stair- 
case, of  wood  with  a  heavy  balustrade,  is  carpeted  with  green 
from  top  to  bottom. 

On  the  second  floor  were  two  sets  of  rooms  divided  by  the 
staircase.  Camille  chose  for  her  own  those  which  look  over 
the  marshes,  the  sand-hills,  and  the  sea,  arranging  them  as  a 
little  sitting-room,  a  bedroom,  a  dressing-room,  and  a  study. 
On  the  other  side  of  the  house  she  contrived  two  bedrooms, 
each  with  a  dressing-closet  and  anteroom.  The  servants' 
rooms  are  above.  The  two  spare  rooms  had  at  first  only  the 
most  necessary  furniture.  The  artistic  luxuries  for  which  she 
had  sent  to  Paris  she  reserved  for  her  own  rooms.  In  this 
gloomy  and  melancholy  dwelling,  looking  out  on  that  gloomy 
and  melancholy  landscape,  she  wanted  to  have  the  most  fan- 
tastic creations  of  art.  Her  sitting-room  is  hung  with  fine 
Gobelin  tapestry,  set  in  wonderfully  carved  frames.     Th^ 


80  BEATRIX. 

windows  are  draped  with  heavy  antique  stuffs,  a  splendid 
brocade  with  a  doubly  shot  ground,  gold  and  red,  yellow  and 
green,  falling  in  many  bold  folds,  edged  with  royal  fringes 
and  tassels  worthy  of  the  most  splendid  baldachins  of  the 
church.  The  room  contains  a  cabinet  which  her  agent  found 
for  her,  worth  seven  or  eight  thousand  francs  now,  a  table  of 
carved  ebony,  a  writing  bureau,  brought  from  Venice,  with  a 
hundred  drawers,  inlaid  with  arabesques  of  ivory,  and  some 
beautiful  Gothic  furniture.  There  are  pictures  and  statuettes, 
the  best  that  an  artist  friend  could  select  in  the  old  curiosity 
shops,  where  the  dealers  never  suspected  in  1818  the  price 
their  treasures  would  afterward  fetch.  On  her  tables  stand 
fine  Chinese  vases  of  grotesque  designs.  The  carpet  is  Per- 
sian, smuggled  in  across  the  sand-hills. 

Her  bedroom  is  in  the  Louis  XV.  style,  and  a  perfectly 
exact  imitation.  Here  we  have  the  carved  wooden  bedstead, 
painted  white,  with  the  arched  head  and  side,  and  figures  of 
Loves  throwing  flowers,  the  lower  part  stuffed  and  upholstered 
in  brocaded  silk,  the  crown  above  decorated  with  four  bunches 
of  feathers;  the  walls  are  hung  with  India  chintz  draped 
with  silk  cords  and  knots.  The  fireplace  is  finished  with 
rustic  work ;  the  clock  of  ormolu,  between  two  large  vases  of 
the  choicest  blue  Sevres  mounted  in  gilt  copper ;  the  mirror 
is  framed  to  match.  The  Pompadour  toilet-table  has  its  lace 
hangings  and  its  glass ;  and  then  there  is  all  the  fanciful  small 
furniture,  the  duchesses,  the  couch,  the  little  formal  settee,  the 
easy-chair  with  a  quilted  back,  the  lacquer  screen,  the  curtains 
of  silk  to  match  the  chairs,  lined  with  pink  satin  and  draped 
with  thick  ropes ;  the  carpet  woven  at  la  Savonnerie — in  short, 
all  the  elegant,  rich,  sumptuous,  and  fragile  things  among 
which  the  ladies  of  the  eighteenth  century  made  love. 

The  study,  absolutely  modern,  in  contrast  with  the  gallant 
suggestiveness  of  the  days  of  Louis  XV.,  has  pretty  mahogany 
furniture.  The  bookshelves  are  full ;  it  looks  like  a  boudoir ; 
there  is  a  divan  in  it.     It  is  crowded  with  the  dainty  trifles 


BEATRIX.  81 

that  women  love :  books  that  lock  up,  boxes  for  handkerchiefs 
and  gloves;  pictured  lamp-shades,  statuettes,  Chinese  gro- 
tesques, writing-cases,  two  or  three  albums,  paper-weights;  in 
short,  every  fashionable  toy.  The  curious  visitor  notes  with 
uneasy  surprise  a  pair  of  pistols,  a  narghileh,  a  riding-whip,  a 
hammock,  a  pipe,  a  fowling-piece,  a  blouse,  some  tobacco, 
and  a  soldier's  knapsack — a  motley  collection  characteristic 
of  Felicite. 

Every  lofty  soul  on  looking  around  must  be  struck  by  the 
peculiar  beauty  of  the  landscape  that  spreads  its  breadth  be- 
yond the  grounds,  the  last  vegetation  of  the  continent.  Those 
dismal  squares  of  brackish  water,  divided  by  little,  white  dykes 
on  which  the  marshman  walks,  all  in  white,  to  rake  out  and 
collect  the  salt  and  heap  it  up ;  that  tract  over  which  salt- 
vapors  rise,  forbidding  birds  to  fly  across,  while  they  at  the 
same  time  choke  every  attempt  at  plant-life ;  those  sands 
where  the  eye  can  find  no  comfort  but  in  the  stiff"  evergreen 
leaves  of  a  small  plant  with  rose-colored  flowers  and  in  the 
Carthusian  pink ;  that  pool  of  sea-water,  the  sand  of  the 
dunes,  and  the  view  of  le  Croisic — a  miniature  town  dropped 
like  Venice  into  the  sea ;  and  beyond,  the  immensity  of 
ocean,  tossing  a  fringe  of  foam  over  the  granite  reefs  to  em- 
phasize their  wild  forms — this  scene  elevates  while  it  saddens 
the  spirit,  the  effect  always  produced  in  the  end  by  anything 
sublime  which  makes  us  yearn  regretfully  for  unknown  things 
that  the  soul  apprehends  at  unattainable  heights.  Indeed, 
these  wild  harmonies  have  no  charm  for  any  but  lofty  natures 
and  great  sorrows.  This  desert,  not  unbroken,  where  the 
sunbeams  are  sometimes  reflected  from  the  water  and  the 
sand,  whiten  the  houses  of  Batz,  and  ripple  over  the  roofs  of 
le  Croisic  with  a  pitiless  dazzling  glare,  would  absorb  Camille 
for  days  at  a  time.  She  rarely  turned  to  the  delightful  green 
views,  the  thickets,  and  flowery  hedges  that  garland  Guerande 
like  a  bride,  with  flowers  and  posies  and  veils  and  festoons. 
She  was  suffering  dreadful  and  unknown  misery. 
6 


82  BE  A  TRIX. 

As  Calyste  saw  the  weathercocks  of  the  two  gables  peeping 
above  the  furze-bushes  of  the  high-road  and  the  gnarled  heads 
of  the  fir  trees,  the  air  seemed  to  him  lighter ;  to  him  Guer- 
ande  was  a  prison,  his  life  was  at  les  Touches.  Who  can- 
not understand  the  attractions  it  held  for  a  simple-minded 
lad? 

His  love,  like  that  of  Cherubino,  which  had  brought  him  to 
the  feet  of  a  personage  who  had  been  a  great  idea  to  him 
before  being  a  woman,  naturally  survived  her  inexplicable 
rejections.  This  feeling,  which  is  rather  the  desire  for  love 
than  love  itself,  had  no  doubt  failed  to  elude  the  inexorable 
analysis  of  Camille  Maupin,  and  hence,  perhaps,  her  repulses, 
a  nobleness  of  mind  misunderstood  by  Calyste.  And,  then, 
the  marvels  of  modern  civilization  seemed  all  the  more  daz- 
zling here  by  contrast  with  Guerande,  where  the  poverty  of 
the  Guenics  was  considered  splendor.  Here,  spread  before 
the  ravished  eyes  of  this  ignorant  youth,  who  had  never  seen 
anything  but  the  yellow  broom  of  Brittany  and  the  heaths  of 
la  Vendue,  lay  the  Parisian  glories  of  a  new  world ;  just  as 
here  he  heard  an  unknown  and  sonorous  language.  Calyste 
here  listened  to  the  poetical  tones  of  the  finest  music,  the 
amazing  music  of  the  nineteenth  century,  in  which  melody 
and  harmony  vie  with  each  other  as  equal  powers,  and  singing 
and  orchestration  have  achieved  incredible  perfection.  He 
here  saw  the  works  of  the  most  prodigal  painting — that  of  the 
French  school  of  to-day,  the  inheritor  of  Italy,  Spain,  and 
Flanders,  in  which  talent  has  become  so  common  that  our 
eyes  and  hearts,  weary  of  so  much  talent,  cry  out  loudly  for  a 
genius.  He  here  read  those  works  of  imagination,  those 
astounding  creations  of  modern  literature,  which  produce 
their  fullest  effect  on  a  fresh  young  heart.  In  short,  our 
grand  nineteenth  century  rose  before  him  in  all  its  magnifi- 
cence as  a  whole — its  criticism,  its  struggles  for  every  kind  of 
renovation,  its  vast  experiments,  almost  all  measured  by  the 
standard  of  the  giant  who  nursed  its  infancy  in  his  flag,  and 


BEATRIX.  83 

sang  it  hymns  to  an  accompaniment  of  the  terrible  bass  of 
cannon. 

Initiated  by  F6licit6  into  all  this  grandeur,  which  perhaps 
escapes  the  ken  of  those  who  put  it  on  the  stage  and  are  its 
makers,  Calyste  satisfied  at  les  Touches  the  love  of  the  mar- 
velous that  is  so  strong  at  his  age,  and  that  guileless  admira- 
tion, the  first  love  of  a  growing  man,  which  is  so  wroth  with 
criticism.  It  is  so  natural  that  flame  should  fly  upward  !  He 
heard  the  light  Parisian  banter,  the  graceful  irony  which  re- 
vealed to  him  what  French  wit  should  be,  and  awoke  in  him 
a  thousand  ideas  that  had  been  kept  asleep  by  the  mild  torpor 
of  home  life.  To  him  Mademoiselle  des  Touches  was  the 
mother  of  his  intelligence,  a  mother  with  whom  he  might 
be  in  love  without  committing  a  crime.  She  was  so  kind  to 
him :  a  woman  is  always  adorably  kind  to  a  man  in  whom  she 
has  inspired  a  passion,  even  though  she  should  not  seem  to 
share  it. 

At  this  very  moment  Felicite  was  giving  him  music  lessons. 
To  him  the  spacious  rooms  on  the  first  floor,  looking  all  the 
larger  by  reason  of  the  skillful  arrangement  of  the  lawns  and 
shrubs  in  the  little  park;  the  staircase,  lined  with  masterpieces 
of  Italian  patience — carved  wood,  Venetian  and  Florentine 
mosaics,  bas-reliefs  in  ivory  and  marble,  curious  toys  made  to 
the  order  of  the  fairies  of  the  Middle  Ages ;  the  upper  rooms, 
so  cozy,  so  dainty,  so  voluptuously  artistic,  were  all  informed 
and  living  with  a  light,  a  spirit,  an  atmosphere,  that  wer^ 
supernatural,  indefinable,  and  strange.  The  modern  world 
with  its  poetry  was  in  strong  contrast  to  the  solemn  patriarchal 
world  of  Guerande,  and  the  two  systems  here  were  face  to  face. 
On  one  hand  the  myriad  effects  of  art ;  on  the  other  the  sim- 
plicity  of  wild  Brittany.  No  one,  then,  need  ask  why  the 
poor  boy,  as  weary  as  his  mother  was  of  the  subtleties  oitnouche, 
always  felt  a  qualm  as  he  entered  this  house,  as  he  rang  the 
bell,  as  he  crossed  the  yard.  It  is  to  be  observed  that  these 
presentiments  cease  to  agitate  men  of  riper  growth,  inured  to 


84  BEATRIX. 

the  mishaps  of  life,  whom  nothing  can  surprise,  and  who  are 
prepared  for  everything. 

As  he  went  in,  Calyste  heard  the  sound  of  the  piano;  he 
thought  that  Camille  Maupin  was  in  the  drawing-room  3  but 
on  entering  the  billiard-room  he  could  no  longer  hear  it. 
Camille  was  playing,  no  doubt,  on  the  little  upright  piano, 
brought  for  her  from  England  by  Conti,  which  stood  in  the 
little  drawing-room  above.  As  he  mounted  the  stairs,  where 
the  thick  carpet  completely  deadened  the  sound  of  footsteps, 
Calyste  went  more  and  more  slowly.  He  perceived  that  this 
music  was  something  extraordinary.  Felicite  was  playing  to 
herself  alone ;  she  was  talking  to  herself.  Instead  of  going 
in,  the  young  man  sat  down  on  a  Gothic  settle  with  a  green 
velvet  cushion,  on  the  landing,  beneath  the  window,  which 
was  artistically  framed  in  carved  wood  stained  with  walnut- 
juice  and  varnished. 

Nothing  could  be  more  mysteriously  melancholy  than 
Camille's  improvisation  ;  it  might  have  been  the  cry  of  a  soul 
wailing  a  De  profundis  to  its  God  from  the  depths  of  the 
grave. 

The  young  lover  knew  it  for  the  prayer  of  love  in  despair,  the 
tenderness  of  resigned  grief,  the  sighing  of  controlled  anguish. 

Camille  was  amplifying,  varying,  and  changing  the  introduc- 
tion to  the  cavatina,  "  Grdce  pour  toi,  grdce  pour  mot,"  from 
the  fourth  act  of  "Robert  le  Diable."  Suddenly  she  began 
to  sing  the  scena  in  heartrending  tones,  and  broke  off.  Calyste 
went  in  and  saw  the  reason  of  this  abrupt  ending.  Poor 
Camille  Maupin,  beautiful  Felicite,  turned  to  him  without 
affectation,  her  face  bathed  in  tears,  took  out  her  handker- 
chief to  wipe  them  away,  and  said  simply — 

"  Good-morning." 

She  was  charming  in  her  morning  dress ;  on  her  head  was 
one  of  the  red  chenille  nets  at  that  time  in  fashion,  from 
which  the  shining  curls  of  her  black  hair  fell  on  her  neck. 
A  very  short  pelisse  formed  a  modern  Greek  tunic,  showing 


BEATRIX.  85 

below  it  cambric  trousers  with  embroidered  frills,  and  the 

prettiest  scarlet  and  gold  Turkish  slippers. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  asked  Calyste. 

"He  has  not  come  back,"  she  replied,  standing  up  at  the 
window  and  looking  out  over  the  sands,  the  creek,  and  the 
marshes. 

This  reply  accounted  for  her  costume.  Camille,  it  would 
seem,  was  expecting  Claud  Vignon,  and  she  was  fretted  as  a 
woman  who  had  wasted  her  pains.  A  man  of  thirty  would 
have  seen  this.     Calyste  only  saw  that  she  was  unhappy. 

"  You  are  anxious?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes,"  she  replied,  with  a  melancholy  that  this  boy  could 
not  fathom. 

Calyste  was  hastily  leaving  the  room. 

"  Well,  where  are  you  going?  " 

"To  find  him." 

"  Dear  child  !  "  said  she,  taking  his  hand,  and  drawing 
him  to  her  with  one  of  those  tearful  looks  which  to  a  young 
soul  is  the  highest  reward.  "  Are  you  mad  ?  Where  do  you 
think  you  can  find  him  on  this  shore  ?  " 

"I  will  find  him." 

"Your  mother  will  suffer  mortal  anguish.  Beside — stay. 
Come,  I  insist  upon  it,"  and  she  made  him  sit  down  on  the 
divan.  "  Do  not  break  your  heart  about  me.  These  tears 
that  you  see  are  the  tears  we  take  pleasure  in.  There  is  a 
faculty  in  women  which  men  have  not :  that  of  abandoning 
ourselves  to  our  nerves  by  indulging  our  feelings  to  excess. 
By  imagining  certain  situations,  and  giving  way  to  the  idea, 
we  work  ourselves  up  to  tears,  sometimes  into  a  serious  condi- 
tion and  real  illness.  A  woman's  fancies  are  not  the  sport 
of  the  mind  merely,  but  of  the  heart.  You  have  come  at  the 
right  moment ;  solitude  is  bad  for  me.  I  am  not  deluded  by 
the  wish  he  felt  to  go  without  me  to  study  le  Croisic  and  its 
rocks,  the  Bourg  de  Batz,  and  its  sands  and  salt-marshes.  I 
knew  he  would  spend  several  days  over  it  instead  of  one.     He 


86  BEATRIX. 

wished  to  leave  us  two  alone ;  he  is  jealous,  or  rather  he  is 
acting  jealousy.     You  are  young;  you  are  handsome." 

"Why  did  you  not  tell  me  sooner?  Must  I  come  no 
more?"  asked  Calyste,  failing  to  restrain  a  tear  that  rolled 
down  his  cheek,  and  touched  Felicite  deeply. 

**  You  are  an  angel !  "  she  exclaimed. 

Then  she  lightly  sang  Mathilde's  strain  "Restez"  out  of 
**  William  Tell,"  to  efface  all  gravity  from  this  grand  reply 
of  a  princess  to  her  subject. 

"He  thus  hopes,"  she  added,  "to  make  me  believe  in* a 
greater  love  for  me  than  he  feels.  He  knows  all  the  regard  I 
feel  for  him,"  she  went  on,  looking  narrowly  at  Calyste, 
"but  he  is  perhaps  humiliated  to  find  himself  my  inferior  in 
this.  Possibly,  too,  he  has  formed  some  suspicions  of  you 
and  thinks  he  will  take  us  by  surprise.  But,  even  if  he  is 
guilty  of  nothing  worse  than  of  wishing  to  enjoy  the  delights 
of  this  expedition  in  the  wilds  without  me,  of  refusing  to  let 
me  share  his  excursions,  and  the  ideas  the  scenes  may  arouse 
in  him,  of  leaving  me  in  mortal  alarms — is  not  that  enough? 
His  great  brain  has  no  more  love  for  me  than  the  musician 
had,  the  wit,  the  soldier.  Sterne  is  right :  names  have  a 
meaning,  and  mine  is  the  bitterest  mockery.  I  shall  die 
without  ever  finding  in  a  man  such  love  as  I  have  in  my  heart, 
such  poetry  as  I  have  in  my  soul." 

She  sat  with  her  arms  hanging  limp,  her  head  thrown 
back  on  the  cushion,  her  eyes  dull  with  concentrated 
thought  and  fixed  on  a  flower  in  the  carpet.  The  sufferings 
of  superior  minds  are  mysteriously  grand  and  imposing ;  they 
reveal  immense  expanses  of  the  soul,  to  which  the  spectator's 
fancy  adds  yet  greater  breadth.  Such  souls  share  in  the  priv- 
ilege of  royalty,  whose  affections  cling  to  a  nation,  and  then 
strike  a  whole  world. 

"Why  did  you ?"  began    Calyste,   who    could    not 

finish   the   sentence.      Camille   Maupin's  beautiful,   burning 
hand  was  laid  on  his,  and  eloquently  stopped  him. 


BEATRIX.  87 

"  Nature  has  forsworn  her  laws  by  granting  me  five  or  six 
years  of  added  youth.  I  have  repelled  you  out  of  selfishness. 
Sooner  or  later  age  would  have  divided  us.  I  am  thirteen 
years  older  than  he  is,  and  that  is  quite  enough  !  " 

"You  will  still  be  beautiful  when  you  are  sixty  !  "  cried 
Calyste  heroically. 

"  God  grant  it !  "  she  replied  with  a  smile.  **  But,  my 
dear  child,  I  intend  to  love  him.  In  spite  of  his  insensibility, 
his  lack  of  imagination,  his  cowardly  indifference,  and  the 
envy  that  consumes  him,  I  believe  that  there  is  greatness 
under  those  husks ;  I  hope   to  galvanize  his  heart,   to  save 

him  from  himself,  to  attach  him  to  me Alas  !  I  have  the 

brain  to  see  clearly  while  my  heart  is  blind." 

She  was  appallingly  clear  as  to  herself  She  could  suffer  and 
analyze  her  suffering,  as  Cuvier  and  Dupuytren  could  explain 
to  their  friends  the  fatal  progress  of  their  diseases  and  the 
steady  advance  of  death.  Camille  Maupin  knew  passion  as 
these  two  learned  men  knew  anatomy. 

"  I  came  here  on  purpose  to  form  an  opinion  about  him  ; 
he  is  already  bored.  He  misses  Paris,  as  I  told  him ;  he  is 
homesick  for  something  to  criticise.  Here  there  is  no  author 
to  be  plucked,  no  system  to  be  undermined,  no  poet  to  be 
driven  to  despair ;  he  dares  not  here  rush  into  some  excess  in 
which  he  could  unburden  himself  of  the  weight  of  thought. 
Alas  !  my  love  perhaps  is  not  true  enough  to  refresh  his  brain. 
In  short,  I  cannot  intoxicate  him  !  To-night  you  and  he 
must  get  drunk  together  ;  I  shall  say  I  am  ailing,  and  stay 
in  my  room  ;  I  shall  know  if  I  am  mistaken." 

Calyste  turned  as  red  as  a  cherry,  red  from  his  chin  to  his 
hair,  and  his  ears  tingled  with  the  glow. 

"  Good  God  !  "  she  exclaimed,  "  and  here  am  I  depraving 
your  maiden  innocence  without  thinking  of  what  I  was  doing! 
Forgive  me,  Calyste.  When  you  love  you  will  know  that 
you  would  try  to  set  the  Seine  on  fire  to  give  the  least  pleasure 
to  *  the  object  of  your  affections,'  as  the  fortune-tellers  say." 


j^  BEATRIX. 

She  paused. 

"There  are  some  proud  and  logical  spirits,"  she  went  on, 
"who  at  a  certain  age  can  exclaim,  '  If  I  could  live  my  life 
again,  I  would  do  everything  the  same.'  Now  I — and  I  do 
not  think  myself  weak — I  say,  *  I  would  be  such  a  woman  as 
your  mother.' 

"  To  have  a  Calyste  of  my  own  !  What  happiness  !  If  I 
had  the  greatest  fool  on  earth  for  a  husband,  I  should  have 
been  a  humble  and  submissive  wife.  And  yet  I  have  not 
sinned  against  society,  I  have  only  hurt  myself.  Alas  !  dear 
child,  a  woman  can  no  longer  go  into  society  unprotected 
excepting  in  what  is  called  a  primitive  state.  The  affections 
that  are  not  in  harmony  with  social  or  natural  laws,  the  affec- 
tions which  are  not  binding,  in  short,  evade  us.  If  I  am  to 
suffer  for  suffering's  sake,  I  might  as  well  be  useful.  What  do 
I  care  for  the  children  of  my  Faucombe  cousins,  who  are  no 
longer  Faucombes,  whom  I  have  not  seen  for  twenty  years, 
and  who  married  merchants  only  !  You  are  a  son  who  has 
cost  me  none  of  the  cares  of  motherhood  ;  I  shall  leave  you 
my  fortune  and  you  will  be  happy,  at  any  rate  so  far  as  that 
is  concerned,  by  my  act,  dear  jewel  of  beauty  and  sweetness, 
which  nothing  should  ever  change  or  fade  !  " 

As  she  spoke  these  words  in  a  deep  voice,  her  eyelids  fell 
that  he  should  not  read  her  eyes. 

"You  have  never  chosen  to  accept  anything  from  me," 
said  Calyste.     "  I  shall  restore  your  fortune  to  your  heirs." 

"  Child  !  "  said  Camille  in  her  rich  tones,  while  the  tears 
fell  down  her  beautiful  cheeks,  "  can  nothing  save  me  from 
myself?  " 

"You  have  a  story  to  tell  me,  and  a  letter  to "  the 

generous  boy  began,  to  divert  her  from  her  distress.  But  she 
interrupted  him  before  he  could  finish  the  sentence. 

"  You  are  right.  I  must,  above  all  things,  keep  my  word. 
It  was  too  late  yesterday ;  but  we  shall  have  time  enough  to- 
day, it  would  seem,"  she  said  in  a  half-playful,  half- bitter 


BEATRIX.  go 

tone.  "  To  fulfill  my  promise,  I  will  sit  where  I  can  look 
down  the  road  to  the  cliflFs." 

Calyste  placed  a  deep  Gothic  armchair,  where  she  could 
look  out  in  that  direction,  and  opened  the  window.  Camille 
Maupin,  who  shared  the  Oriental  tastes  of  the  more  illustrious 
writer  of  her  own  sex,  took  out  a  magnificent  Persian  narghileh 
that  an  ambassador  had  given  her ;  she  filled  it  with  patchouli 
leaves,  cleaned  the  mouthpiece,  scented  the  quill  before  she 
inserted  it — it  would  serve  her  but  once — put  a  match  to  the 
dried  leaves,  placed  the  handsome  instrument  of  pleasure, 
with  its  long-necked  bowl  of  blue-and-gold  enamel,  at  no 
great  distance,  and  then  rang  for  tea. 

"  If  you  would  like  a  cigarette?  Ah  !  I  always  forget  that 
you  do  not  smoke.  Such  immaculateness  as  yours  is  rare  ! 
I  feel  as  though  only  the  fingers  of  an  Eve  fresh  from  the 
hand  of  God  ought  to  caress  the  downy  satin  of  your 
cheeks. ' ' 

Calyste  reddened  and  sat  down  on  a  stool;  he  did  not 
observe  the  deep  emotion  that  made  Camille  blush. 

*'  The  person  from  whom  I  yesterday  received  this  letter, 
and  who  will  perhaps  be  here  to-morrow,  is  the  Marquise  de 
Rochefide,"  said  Felicity.  "After  getting  his  eldest  daughter 
married  to  a  Portuguese  grandee  who  had  settled  in  France, 
old  Rochefide,  whose  family  is  not  so  old  as  yours,  wanted 
to  connect  his  son  with  the  highest  nobility,  so  as  to  procure 
for  him  a  peerage  he  had  failed  to  obtain  for  himself.  The 
Comtesse  de  Montcornet  told  him  that  in  the  department  of 
the  Orne  there  was  a  certain  Mademoiselle  Beatrix  Maxi- 
milienne  Rose  de  Casteran,  the  youngest  daughter  of  the 
Marquis  de  Casteran,  who  wanted  to  get  his  two  daughters 
off  his  hands  without  any  money,  so  as  to  leave  his  whole 
fortune  to  his  son,  the  Comte  de  Casteran.  The  Casterans,  it 
would  seem,  are  descended  direct  from  Adam. 

"  Beatrix,  born  and  brought  up  in  the  chateau  of  Casteran,  at 
the  time  of  her  marriage,  in  1828,  was  twenty  years  of  age. 


90  BEATRIX. 

She  was  remarkable  for  what  you  provincials  call  eccentricity, 
which  is  simply  a  superior  mind,  enthusiasm,  a  sense  of  the 
beautiful,  and  a  fervid  feeling  for  works  of  art.  Take  the  word 
of  a  poor  woman  who  has  trusted  herself  on  these  slopes,  there 
is  nothing  more  perilous  for  a  woman ;  if  she  tries  them,  she 
arrives  where  you  see  me,  and  where  the  Marquise  is — in  an 
abyss.  Men  only  have  the  staff  that  can  be  a  support  on  the 
edge  of  those  precipices,  a  strength  which  we  lack,  or  which 
makes  us  monsters  if  we  have  it. 

"  Her  old  grandmother,  the  dowager  Marquise  de  Casteran, 
was  delighted  to  see  her  marry  a  man  whose  superior  she  would 
certainly  be  in  birth  and  mind.  The  Rochefides  did  every- 
thing extremely  well,  Beatrix  could  but  be  satisfied ;  and  in 
the  same  way  Rochefide  had  every  reason  to  be  pleased  with 
the  Casterans,  who,  as  connected  with  the  Verneuils,  the 
d'Esgrignons,  and  the  Troisvilles,  obtained  the  peerage  for 
their  son-in-law  as  one  of  the  last  batch  made  by  Charles  X., 
though  it  was  annulled  by  a  decree  of  the  Revolution  of  July. 

"  Rochefide  is  a  fool ;  however,  he  began  by  having  a  son  ; 
and,  as  he  gave  his  wife  no  respite  and  almost  killed  her  with 
his  company,  she  soon  had  enough  of  him.  The  early  days  of 
married  life  are  a  rock  of  danger  for  small  minds  as  for  great 
passions.  Rochefide,  being  a  fool,  mistook  his  wife's  igno- 
rance for  coldness ;  he  regarded  Beatrix  as  a  lymphatic  crea- 
ture— she  is  very  fair — and  thereupon  lulled  himself  into  per- 
fect security  and  led  a  bachelor  life,  trusting  to  the  Marquise's 
supposed  coldness,  her  pride,  her  haughtiness,  and  tlie  splen- 
dor of  a  style  of  living  which  surrounds  a  woman  in  Paris  with 
a  thousand  barriers.  When  you  go  there  you  will  understand 
what  I  mean.  Those  who  hoped  to  take  advantage  of  his  easy 
indifference  would  say  to  him,  'You  are  a  lucky  fellow.  You 
have  a  heartless  wife,  whose  passions  will  all  be  in  her  brain  ; 
she  is  content  with  shining;  her  fancies  are  purely  artistic ; 
her  jealousy  and  wishes  will  be  amply  satisfied  if  she  can  form 
a  Salon  where  all  the  wits  and  talents  meet;  she  will  have 


BEATRIX.  91 

debauches  of  music,  orgies  of  literature.'  And  the  husband 
took  in  all  this  nonsense  with  which  simpletons  are  stuffed  in 
Paris. 

"  At  the  same  time,  Rochefide  is  not  a  common  idiot ;  he 
has  as  much  vanity  and  pride  as  a  clever  man,  with  this  differ- 
ence, that  clever  men  assume  some  modesty  and  become  cats ; 
they  coax  to  be  coaxed  in  return ;  whereas  Rochefide  has  a 
fine  flourishing  conceit,  rosy  and  plump,  that  admires  itself  in 
public,  and  is  always  smiling.  His  vanity  rolls  in  the  stable 
and  feeds  noisily  from  the  manger,  tugging  out  the  hay.  He 
has  faults  such  as  are  known  only  to  those  who  are  in  a  posi- 
tion to  judge  him  intimately,  which  are  noticeable  only  in 
the  shade  and  mystery  of  private  life,  while  in  society  and  to 
society  the  man  seems  charming.  Rochfide  must  have  been 
intolerable  the  moment  he  fancied  that  his  hearth  and  home 
were  threatened  ;  for  his  is  that  cunning  and  squalid  jealousy 
that  is  brutal  when  it  is  aroused,  cowardly  for  six  months,  and 
murderous  the  seventh.  He  thought  he  deceived  his  wife, 
and  he  feared  her — two  reasons  for  tyranny  if  the  day  should 
come  when  he  discerned  that  his  wife  was  so  merciful  as  to 
affect  indifference  to  his  infidelities. 

"  I  have  analyzed  his  character  to  explain  Beatrix's  con- 
duct. The  Marquise  used  to  admire  me  greatly;  but  there  is  but 
one  step  from  admiration  to  jealousy.  I  have  one  of  the  most 
remarkable  Salons  of  Paris ;  she  wished  to  have  one  and  tried 
to  win  away  my  circle.  I  have  not  the  art  of  keeping  those 
who  wish  to  leave  me.  She  has  won  such  superficial  persons 
as  are  everybody's  friends  from  vacuity,  and  whose  object  is 
always  to  go  out  of  a  room  as  soon  as  they  have  come  in  ;  but 
she  has  not  had  time  to  make  a  circle.  At  that  time  I  sup- 
posed that  she  was  consumed  with  the  desire  of  any  kind  of 
celebrity.  Nevertheless,  she  had  some  greatness  of  soul,  a 
royal  pride,  ideas,  and  a  wonderful  gift  of  apprehending  and 
understanding  everything.  She  will  talk  of  metaphysics  and 
of  music,  of  theology  and  of  painting.     You  will  see  her  as  a 


92  BEATRIX. 

woman  what  we  saw  her  as  a  bride  ;  but  she  is  not  without  a 
little  conceit ;  she  gives  herself  too  much  the  air  of  knowing 
difficult  things — Chinese  or  Hebrew,  of  having  ideas  about 
hieroglyphics,  and  of  being  able  to  explain  the  papyrus  that 
wraps  a  mummy. 

"Beatrix  is  one  of  those  fair  women  by  whom  fair  Eve 
would  look  like  a  negress.  She  is  as  tall  and  straight  as  a 
taper  and  as  white  as  the  holy  wafer ;  she  has  a  long  pointed 
face  and  a  very  variable  complexion,  to-day  as  colorless  as 
cambric,  to-morrow  dull  and  mottled  under  the  skin  with  a 
myriad  tiny  specks,  as  though  the  blood  had  left  dust  there  in 
the  course  of  the  night.  Her  forehead  is  grand,  but  a  little 
too  bold;  her  eyes,  pale  aquamarine-tinted,  floating  in  the 
white  cornea  under  colorless  eyebrows  and  indolent  lids. 
There  is  often  a  dark  circle  around  her  eyes.  Her  nose, 
curved  to  a  quarter  of  a  circle,  is  pinched  at  the  nostrils  and 
full  of  refinement,  but  it  is  impertinent.  She  has  the  Austrian 
mouth,  the  upper  lip  thicker  than  the  lower,  which  has  a 
scornful  droop.  Her  pale  cheeks  only  flush  under  some  very 
strong  emotion.  Her  chin  is  rather  fat ;  mine  is  not  thin ; 
and  perhaps  I  ought  not  to  tell  you  that  women  with  a  fat 
chin  are  exacting  in  love  aff"airs.  She  has  one  of  the  most 
beautiful  figures  I  ever  saw;  a  back  of  dazzling  whiteness, 
which  used  to  be  very  flat,  but  which  now,  I  am  told,  has 
filled  out  and  grown  dimpled ;  but  the  bust  is  not  so  fine  as 
the  shoulders ;  her  arms  are  still  thin.  However,  she  has  a 
mien  and  a  freedom  of  manner  which  redeem  all  her  defects 
and  throw  her  beauties  into  relief.  Nature  has  bestowed  on 
her  that  air,  as  of  a  princess,  which  can  never  be  acquired, 
which  becomes  her  and  at  once  reveals  the  woman  of  birth ; 
it  is  in  harmony  with  the  slender  hips  of  exquisite  form,  with 
the  prettiest  foot  in  the  world,  and  the  abundant  angel-like 
hair,  resembling  waves  of  light,  such  as  Girodet's  brush  has  so 
often  painted. 

"Without  being  faultlessly  beautiful  or  pretty,  when  she 


BEATRIX.  gS 

chooses  she  can  make  an  indelible  impression.  She  has  only 
to  dress  in  cherry-colored  velvet,  with  lace  frillings,  and  red 
roses  in  her  hair,  to  be  divine.  If  on  any  pretext  Beatrix 
could  dress  in  the  costume  of  a  time  when  women  wore 
pointed  stomachers  laced  with  ribbon,  rising,  slender  and 
fragile-looking,  from  the  padded  fulness  of  brocade  skirts  set 
in  thick  deep  pleats;  when  their  heads  were  framed  in  starched 
ruffs,  and  their  arms  hidden  under  slashed  sleeves  with  lace 
ruffles,  out  of  which  the  hand  appeared  like  the  pistil  from  the 
cup  of  a  flower ;  when  their  hair  was  tossed  back  in  a  thou- 
sand little  curls  over  a  knot  held  up  by  a  network  of  jewels, 
Beatrix  would  appear  as  a  successful  rival  to  any  of  the  ideal 
beauties  you  may  see  in  that  array." 

Felicite  showed  Calyste  a  good  copy  of  Mieris*  picture  in 
which  a  lady  in  white  satin  stands  singing  with  a  gentleman 
of  Brabant,  while  a  negro  pours  old  Spanish  wine  into  a  glass 
with  a  foot,  and  a  housekeeper  is  arranging  some  biscuits. 

**  Fair  women,"  she  went  on,  "  have  the  advantage  over  us 
dark  women  of  the  most  delightful  variety ;  you  may  be  fair 
in  a  hundred  ways,  but  there  is  only  one  way  of  being  dark. 
Fair  women  are  more  womanly  than  we  are ;  we  dark  French- 
women are  too  like  men.  Well,"  she  added,  "do  not  be 
falling  in  love  with  Beatrix  on  the  strength  of  the  portrait  I 
have  given  you,  exactly  like  some  prince  in  the  'Arabian 
Nights.'  Too  late  in  the  day,  my  dear  boy!  But  be  com- 
forted.    With  her  the  bones  are  for  the  first  comer." 

She  spoke  with  meaning ;  the  admiration  expressed  in  the 
youth's  face  was  evidently  more  for  the  picture  than  for  the 
painter  whose  touch  had  missed  its  purpose. 

"In  spite  of  her  being  a  blonde,"  she  resumed,  "Beatrix 
has  not  the  delicacy  of  her  coloring ;  the  lines  are  severe,  she 
is  elegant  and  hard ;  she  has  the  look  of  a  strictly  accurate 
drawing,  and  you  might  fancy  she  had  southern  fires  in  her 
soul.  She  is  a  flaming  angel,  slowly  drying  up.  Her  eyes 
look  thirsty.     Her  front  face  is  the  best ;  in  profile  her  face 


94  BEATRIX. 

looks  as  if  it  had  been  flattened  between  two  doors.  You 
will  see  if  I  am  wrong. 

"This  is  what  led  to  our  being  such  intimate  friends: 
For  three  years,  from  1828  to  1831,  Beatrix,  while  enjoying 
the  last  gayeties  of  the  Restoration,  wandering  through  draw- 
ing-rooms, going  to  court,  gracing  the  fancy-dress  balls  at  the 
Elysee  Bourbon,  was  judging  men,  things,  and  events  from 
the  heights  of  her  intellect.  Her  mind  was  fully  occupied. 
This  first  bewilderment  at  seeing  the  world  kept  her  heart 
dormant,  and  it  remained  torpid  under  the  first  startling 
experiences  of  marriage — a  baby — a  confinement,  and  all  the 
business  of  motherhood,  which  I  cannot  bear;  I  am  not  a 
woman  so  far  as  that  is  concerned.  To  me  children  are  unen- 
durable ;  they  bring  a  thousand  sorrows  and  incessant  anxi- 
eties. I  must  say  that  I  regard  it  as  one  of  the  blessings  of 
modern  society  of  which  that  hypocrite  Jean-Jacques  deprived 
us,  that  we  were  free  to  be  or  not  to  be  mothers.  Though  I 
am  not  the  only  woman  that  thinks  this,  I  am  the  only  one  to 
say  it. 

"During  the  storm  of  1830  and  1831  Beatrix  went  to  her 
husband's  country  house,  where  she  was  as  much  bored  as  a 
saint  in  his  stall  in  paradise.  On  her  return  to  Paris,  the 
Marquise  thought,  and  perhaps  rightly,  that  the  Revolution, 
which  in  the  eyes  of  most  people  was  purely  political,  would 
be  a  moral  revolution  too.  The  world  to  which  she  belonged 
had  failed  to  reconstitute  itself  during  the  unlooked-for  fifteen 
years  of  triumph  under  the  Restoration,  so  it  must  crumble 
away  under  the  steady  battering  ram  of  the  middle  class. 
She  had  understood  Monsieur  Lain6's  great  words,  '  Kings 
are  departing.'  This  opinion,  I  suspect,  was  not  without  its 
influence  on  her  conduct. 

"She  sympathized  intellectually  with  the  new  doctrines 
which,  for  three  years  after  that  July,  swarmed  into  life  like 
flies  in  the  sunshine,  and  which  turned  many  women's  heads ; 
but,  like  all  the  nobility,  though  she  thought  the  new  ideas 


BE  A  TRIX.  95 

magnificent,  she  wished  to  save  the  nobility.  Finding  no 
opening  now  for  personal  superiority,  seeing  the  uppermost 
class  again  setting  up  the  speechless  opposition  it  had  already 
shown  to  Napoleon — which,  during  the  dominion  of  actions 
and  facts,  was  the  only  attitude  it  could  take,  whereas,  in  a 
time  of  moral  transition,  it  was  equivalent  to  retiring  from  the 
contest — she  preferred  a  happy  life  to  this  mute  antagonism. 

"  When  we  began  to  breathe  a  little,  the  Marquise  met  at 
my  house  the  man  with  whom  I  had  thought  to  end  my  days 
— Gennaro  Conti,  the  great  composer,  of  Neapolitan  parent- 
age, but  born  at  Marseilles.  Conti  is  a  very  clever  fellow 
and  has  gifts  as  a  composer,  though  he  can  never  rise  to 
the  highest  rank.  If  we  had  not  Meyerbeer  and  Rossini,  he 
might  perhaps  have  passed  for  a  genius.  He  has  this  advan- 
tage over  them,  that  he  is  as  a  singer  what  Paganini  is  on  the 
violin,  Liszt  on  the  piano,  Taglioni  as  a  dancer — in  short, 
what  the  famous  Garat  was,  of  whom  he  reminds  those  who 
ever  heard  that  singer.  It  is  not  a  voice,  my  dear  boy,  it  is 
a  soul.  When  that  singing  answers  to  certain  ideas,  certain 
indescribable  moods  in  which  a  woman  sometimes  finds  herself, 
if  she  hears  Gennaro  she  is  lost.  The  Marquise  fell  madly  in 
love  with  him  and  won  him  from  me.  It  was  excessively 
provincial,  but  fair  warfare.  She  gained  my  esteem  and 
friendship  by  her  conduct  toward  me.  She  fancied  I  was  the 
woman  to  fight  for  my  possession  j  she  could  not  tell  that  in 
my  eyes  the  most  ridiculous  thing  in  the  world  under  such 
circumstances  is  the  subject  of  the  contest.  She  came  to  see 
me.  The  woman,  proud  as  she  is,  was  so  much  in  love  that 
she  betrayed  her  secret  and  left  me  mistress  of  her  fate.  She 
was  quite  charming ;  in  my  eyes  she  remained  a  woman  and 
a  marquise. 

"  I  may  tell  you,  my  friend,  that  women  are  sometimes 
bad ;  but  they  have  a  secret  greatness  which  men  will  never 
be  able  to  appreciate.  And  so,  as  I  may  wind  up  my  affairs 
as  a  woman  on  the  brink  of  old  age,  which  is  awaiting  me,  I 


96  BEATRIX. 

will  tell  you  that  I  had  been  faithful  to  Conti,  that  I  should 
have  continued  faithful  till  death,  and  that  nevertheless  I 
knew  him  thoroughly.  He  has  apparently  a  delightful  nature, 
at  bottom  he  is  detestable.  In  matters  of  feeling  he  is  a 
charlatan. 

"There  are  men,  like  Nathan,  of  whom  I  have  spoken  to 
you,  who  are  charlatans  on  the  surface  but  honest.  Such  men 
lie  to  themselves.  Perched  on  stilts,  they  fancy  that  they  are 
on  their  feet,  and  play  their  tricks  with  a  sort  of  innocence ; 
their  vanity  is  in  their  blood ;  they  are  born  actors,  swaggerers, 
grotesquely  funny  like  a  Chinese  jar ;  they  might  even  laugh 
at  themselves.  Their  personal  impulses  are  generous,  and, 
like  the  gaudiness  of  Murat's  royal  costume,  they  attract 
danger. 

"But  Conti's  rascality  will  never  be  known  to  any  one  but 
his  mistress.  He  has  as  an  artist  that  famous  Italian  jealousy 
which  led  Carlone  to  assassinate  Piola  and  caused  Paesiello  a 
stiletto  thrust.  This  terrible  envy  is  hidden  beneath  the  most 
charming  good-fellowship.  Conti  has  not  the  courage  of  his 
vice;  he  smiles  at  Meyerbeer  and  pays  him  compliments  while 
he  longs  to  rend  him.  He  feels  himself  weak,  and  gives  him- 
self the  airs  of  force ;  and  his  vanity  is  such  that  he  affects 
the  sentiments  furthest  from  his  heart.  He  assumes  to  be  an 
artist  inspired  direct  from  heaven.  To  him  Art  is  something 
sacred  and  holy.  He  is  a  fanatic  ;  he  is  sublime  in  his  fooling 
of  fashionable  folk;  his  eloquence  seems  to  flow  from  the 
deepest  convictions.  He  is  a  seer,  a  demon,  a  god,  an  angel. 
In  short,  though  I  have  warned  you,  Calyste,  you  will  be  his 
dupe.  This  southerner,  this  seething  artist,  is  as  cold  as  a 
well-rope. 

"You  listen  to  him;  the  artist  is  a  missionary.  Art  is  a  re- 
ligion that  has  its  priesthood  and  must  have  its  martyrs. 
Once  started,  Gennaro  mounts  to  the  most  disheveled  pathos 
that  ever  a  German  philosopher  spouted  out  on  his  audience. 
You  admire   his  convictions — he   believes   in  nothinsr.     He 


BEATRIX.  sn 

carries  you  up  to  heaven  by  a  song  that  seems  to  be  some 
mysterious  fluid,  flowing  with  love  ;  he  gives  you  a  glance  of 
ecstasy  ;  but  he  keeps  an  eye  on  your  admiration ;  he  is  asking 
himself,  'Am  I  really  a  god  to  these  people  ? '  And  in  the 
same  instant  he  is  perhaps  saying  to  himself,  '  I  have  eaten  too 
much  macaroni.'  You  fancy  he  loves  you — he  hates  you ;  and 
you  do  not  know  why.  But  I  always  knew.  He  had  seen 
some  woman  the  day  before,  loved  her  for  a  whim,  insulted 
me  with  false  love,  with  hypocritical  kisses,  making  me  pay 
dearly  for  his  feigned  fidelity.  In  short,  he  is  insatiable  for 
applause ;  he  shams  everything  and  trifles  with  everything ; 
he  can  act  joy  as  well  as  grief,  and  he  succeeds  to  perfection. 
He  can  please,  he  is  loved,  he  can  get  admiration  whenever  he 
chooses. 

"  I  left  him  hating  his  voice  j  he  owed  it  more  success  than 
he  could  get  from  his  talent  as  a  composer ;  and  he  would 
rather  be  a  man  of  genius  like  Rossini  than  a  performer  as  fine 
as  Rubini.  I  had  been  so  foolish  as  to  attach  myself  to  him, 
and  I  would  have  decked  the  idol  to  the  last.  Conti,  like 
many  artists,  is  very  dainty  and  likes  his  ease  and  his  little 
enjoyments;  he  is  dandified,  elegant,  well  dressed;  well,  I 
humored  all  his  manias,  I  loved  that  weak  but  astute  character. 
I  was  envied,  and  I  sometimes  smiled  with  disdain.  I  re- 
spected his  courage  ;  he  is  brave,  and  bravery,  it  is  said,  is 
the  only  virtue  which  no  hypocrisy  can  simulate.  On  one 
occasion,  when  traveling,  I  saw  him  put  to  the  test ;  he  was 
ready  to  risk  his  life — and  he  loves  it ;  but,  strange  to  say, 
in  Paris  I  have  known  him  guilty  of  what  I  call  mental  cow- 
ardice. 

"  My  dear  boy,  I  knew  all  this.  I  said  to  the  poor  Mar- 
quise, *  You  do  not  know  what  a  gulf  you  are  setting  foot  in ; 
you  are  the  Perseus  of  a  hapless  Andromeda ;  you  are  rescuing 
me  from  the  rock.  If  he  loves  you,  so  much  the  better ;  but 
I  doubt  it,  he  loves  no  one  but  himself 

"  Gennaro  was  in  the  seventh  heaven  of  pride.  I  was  no 
7 


'96  BEATRIX. 

marquise,  I  was  not  born  a  Casteran  ;  I  was  forgotten  in  a  day. 
I  allowed  myself  the  fierce  pleasure  of  studying  this  character 
to  its  depths.  Certain  of  what  the  end  would  be,  I  meant  to 
watch  Conti's  contortions.  My  poor  boy,  in  one  week  I  saw 
horrors  of  sentimentality,  hideous  manoeuvring !  I  will  tell 
you  no  more ;  you  will  see  the  man  here.  Only,  as  he  knows 
that  I  know  him,  he  hates  me  now.  If  he  could  safely  stab 
me  I  should  not  be  alive  for  two  seconds. 

"I  have  never  said  a  word  of  this  to  Beatrix.  Gennaro's 
last  and  constant  insult  is  that  he  believes  me  capable  of  com- 
municating my  painful  knowledge  to  the  Marquise.  He  has 
become  restless  and  absent-minded,  for  he  cannot  believe  in 
good  feeling  in  any  one.  He  still  performs  for  my  benefit 
the  part  of  a  man  grieved  to  have  deserted  me.  You  will 
find  him  full  of  the  most  penetrating  cordiality ;  he  will 
wheedle,  he  will  be  chivalrous.  To  him  every  woman  is  a 
Madonna  1  You  have  to  live  with  him  for  some  time  before 
you  detect  the  secret  of  that  false  frankness  or  know  the 
stiletto  prick  of  his  humbug.  His  air  of  conviction  would 
take  in  God.  And  so  you  will  be  enmeshed  by  his  feline 
blandishments,  and  will  never  conceive  of  the  deep  and  rapid 
arithmetic  of  his  inmost  mind.     Let  him  be. 

"  I  carried  indifference  to  the  point  of  receiving  them  to- 
gether at  my  house.  The  consequence  of  this  was  that  the 
most  suspicious  world  on  earth,  the  world  of  Paris,  knew 
nothing  of  the  intrigue.  Though  Gennaro  was  drunk  with 
pride,  he  wanted,  no  doubt,  to  pose  before  Beatrix ;  his  dis- 
simulation was  consummate.  He  surprised  me ;  I  had  ex- 
pected to  find  that  he  insisted  on  a  stage-effect.  It  was  she 
who  compromised  herself,  after  a  year  of  happiness  under  all 
the  vicissitudes  and  risks  of  Parisian  existence. 

"  She  had  not  seen  Gennaro  for  some  days  and  I  had  in- 
vited him  to  dine  with  me,  as  she  was  coming  in  the  evening. 
Rochefide  had  no  suspicions  ;  but  Beatri)i  knew  her  husband 
so  well,  that,  as  she  often  told  me,  she  would  have  preferred 


BEATRIX.  99 

the  worst  poverty  to  the  wretched  life  that  awaited  her  in  the 
event  of  that  man  ever  having  a  right  to  scorn  or  to  torment 
her.  I  had  chosen  the  evening  when  our  friend  the  Com- 
tesse  de  Montcornet  was  at  home.  After  seeing  her  husband 
served  with  his  coffee,  Beatrix  left  the  drawing-room  to 
dress,  though  she  was  not  in  the  habit  of  getting  ready  so 
early. 

"  *  Your  hairdresser  is  not  here  yet,'  said  Rochefide,  when 
he  heard  why  she  was  going. 

**  'Therese  can  do  my  hair,'  she  replied. 

<<  'Why,  where  are  you  going?  You  cannot  go  to  Mad- 
ame de  Montcornet's  at  eight  o'clock.' 

"  '  No,'  said  she,  '  but  I  shall  hear  the  first  act  at  the  Italian 
opera. ' 

"  The  catechising  bailiff  in  Voltaire's  '  Huron  '  is  a  silent 
man  by  comparison  with  an  idle  husband.  Beatrix  fled,  to 
be  no  farther  questioned,  and  did  not  hear  her  husband  say, 
*  Very  well ;  we  will  go  together. ' 

"  He  did  not  do  it  on  purpose ;  he  had  no  reason  to 
suspect  his  wife ;  she  was  allowed  so  much  liberty  !  He  tried 
never  to  fetter  her  in  any  way;  he  prided  himself  on  it. 
And,  indeed,  her  conduct  did  not  offer  the  smallest  hold  for  the 
strictest  critic.  The  Marquis  was  going  who  knows  where — 
to  see  his  mistress  perhaps.  He  had  dressed  before  dinner ; 
he  had  only  to  take  up  his  hat  and  gloves  when  he  heard  his 
wife's  carriage  draw  up  under  the  awning  of  the  steps  in  the 
courtyard.  He  went  to  her  room  and  found  her  ready,  but 
amazed  at  seeing  him. 

"  '  Where  are  you  going?  '  said  she. 

"  '  Did  I  not  tell  you  I  would  go  with  you  to  the  opera? ' 

"  The  Marquise  controlled  the  outward  expression  of  in- 
tense annoyance ;  but  her  cheeks  turned  as  scarlet  as  though 
she  had  used  rouge. 

"  *  Well,  come  then,*  she  replied. 

"Rochefide  followed  her,  without  heeding  the  agitation 


100  BEATRIX. 

betrayed  by  her  voice ;  she  was  burning  with  the  most  violent 
suppressed  rage. 

"  *To  the  opera,'  said  her  husband. 

**  *  No,'  cried  Beatrix,  *  to  Mademoiselle  des  Touches'. 
I  have  a  word  to  say  to  her,'  she  added  when  the  door  was 
shut. 

"The  carriage  started. 

"  *  But  if  you  like,'  Beatrix  added,  *  I  can  take  you  first  to 
the  opera  and  go  to  her  afterward. ' 

"  'No,'  said  the  Marquis;  'if  you  have  only  a  few  words 
to  say  to  her,  I  will  wait  in  the  carriage ;  it  is  only  half-past 
seven.' 

"  If  Beatrix  had  said  to  her  husband,  '  Go  to  the  opera  and 
leave  me  alone,'  he  would  have  obeyed  her  quite  calmly. 
Like  every  clever  woman,  knowing  herself  guilty,  she  was 
afraid  of  rousing  his  suspicions,  and  resigned  herself.  Thus, 
when  she  gave  up  the  opera  to  come  to  my  house,  her  husband 
accompanied  her.  She  came  in  scarlet  with  rage  and  impa- 
tience. She  walked  straight  up  to  me,  and  said  in  a  low 
voice,  with  the  calmest  manner  in  the  world — 

"  '  My  dear  Felicite,  I  shall  start  for  Italy  to-morrow  even- 
ing with  Conti ;  beg  him  to  make  his  arrangements,  and  wait 
for  me  here  with  a  carriage  and  passport.' 

"  Then  she  left  with  her  husband.  Violent  passions  insist 
on  liberty  at  any  cost.  Beatrix  had  for  a  year  been  suffering 
from  want  of  freedom  and  the  rarity  of  their  meetings,  for 
she  considered  herself  one  with  Gennaro.  So  nothing  could 
surprise  me.  In  her  place,  with  my  temper,  I  should  have 
acted  as  she  did.  Conti's  happiness  broke  my  heart ;  only 
his  vanity  was  engaged  in  this  matter. 

"'That  is  indeed  being  loved!'  he  exclaimed,  in  the 
midst  of  his  transports.  *  How  few  women  would  thus  forego 
their  whole  life,  their  fortune,  their  reputation  ! ' 

"  'Oh  yes,  she  loves  you,'  said  I;  'but  you  do  not  love 
herl' 


A7     THE     UNEXPECTED     SIGHT     CALYSTE     AND     FELICITE     SAT 
SILENT    FOR    A     MINUTE. 


BEATRIX.  101 

**  He  flew  into  a  fury  and  made  a  scene ;  he  harangued,  he 
scolded,  he  described  his  passion,  saying  he  had  never  thought 
it  possible  that  he  could  love  so  much.  I  was  immovably 
cool,  and  lent  him  the  money  he  might  want  for  the  journey 
that  had  taken  him  by  surprise. 

"  Beatrix  wrote  a  letter  to  her  husband  and  set  out  for  Italy 
the  next  evening.  She  stayed  there  two  years  ;  she  wrote  to 
me  several  times.  Her  letters  are  bewitchingly  friendly ;  the 
poor  child  clings  to  me  as  the  only  woman  that  understands 
her.  She  tells  me  she  adores  me.  Want  of  money  compelled 
Gennaro  to  write  an  opera;  he  did  not  find  in  Italy  the 
pecuniary  resources  open  to  a  composer  in  Paris.  Here  is 
her  last  letter ;  you  can  understand  it  now  if,  at  your  age,  you 
can  analyze  the  emotions  of  the  heart,"  she  added,  handing 
him  the  letter. 

At  this  moment  Claud  Vignon  came  in.  At  the  unexpected 
sight  Calyste  and  Felicite  sat  silent  for  a  minute,  she  from 
surprise,  he  from  vague  dissatisfaction.  Claud's  vast,  high, 
and  wide  forehead,  bald  at  seven-and-thirty,  was  dark  with 
clouds.  His  firm,  judicious  lips  expressed  cold  irony.  Claud 
Vignon  is  an  imposing  person,  in  spite  of  the  changes  in  a 
face  that  was  splendid  and  is  now  grown  livid.  From  the 
age  of  eighteen  to  five-and-twenty  he  had  a  strong  likeness  to 
the  divine  young  Raphael ;  but  his  nose,  the  human  feature 
which  most  readily  alters,  has  grown  sharp;  his  countenance 
has,  as  it  were,  sunk  under  mysterious  hollows,  the  outlines 
have  grown  puffy,  and  with  a  bad  color ;  leaden  grays  pre- 
dominate in  the  worn  complexion,  though  no  one  knows  what 
the  fatigues  can  be  Qf  a  young  man,  aged  perhaps  by  crushing 
loneliness,  and  an  abuse  of  keen  discernment.  He  is  always 
examining  other  men's  minds,  without  object  or  system ;  the 
pickaxe  of  his  criticism  is  always  destroying,  and  never  con- 
structing anything.  His  weariness  is  that  of  the  laborer,  not 
of  the  architect. 


102  BEATRIX. 

His  eyes,  light  blue  and  once  bright,  are  dimmed  with 
unconfessed  suffering  or  clouded  by  sullen  sadness.  Dissipa- 
tion has  darkened  the  eyelids  beneath  the  brows ;  the  temples 
have  lost  their  smoothness.  The  chin,  most  nobly  moulded, 
has  grown  double  without  dignity.  His  voice,  never  very 
sonorous,  has  grown  thin ;  it  is  not  hoarse,  not  husky,  but 
something  between  the  two.  The  inscrutability  of  this  fine 
face,  the  fixity  of  that  gaze,  cover  an  irresolution  and  weak- 
ness that  are  betrayed  in  the  shrewd  and  ironical  smile.  This 
weakness  affects  his  actions,  but  not  his  mind ;  the  stamp  of 
encyclopaedic  intellect  is  on  that  brow  and  in  the  habit  of 
that  face,  at  once  childlike  and  lofty. 

One  detail  may  help  to  explain  the  eccentricities  of  this 
character.  The  man  is  tall  and  already  somewhat  bent,  like 
all  who  bear  a  world  of  ideas.  These  tall,  long  frames  have 
never  been  remarkable  for  tenacious  energy,  for  creative 
activity.  Charlemagne,  Narses,  Belisarius,  and  Constantine 
have  been,  in  this  particular,  very  noteworthy  exceptions. 
Claud  Vignon,  no  doubt,  suggests  mysteries  to  be  solved.  In 
the  first  place,  he  is  at  once  very  simple  and  very  deep. 
Though  he  rushes  into  excess  with  the  readiness  of  a  court- 
esan, his  mind  remains  unclouded.  The  intellect  which  can 
criticise  art,  science,  literature,  and  politics  is  inadequate  to 
control  his  outer  life.  Claud  contemplates  himself  in  the 
wide  extent  of  his  intellectual  realm,  and  gives  up  the  form 
of  things  with  Diogenes-like  indifference.  Content  with 
seeing  into  everything,  understanding  everything,  he  scorns 
material  details ;  but,  being  beset  with  hesitancy  as  soon  as 
creation  is  needed,  he  sees  obstacles  without  being  carried 
away  by  beauties,  and,  by  dint  of  discussing  means,  he  sits, 
his  hands  hanging  idle,  producing  no  results.  Intellectually 
he  is  a  Turk  in  whom  meditation  induces  sleep.  Criticism  is 
his  opium,  and  his  harem  of  books  has  disgusted  him  with 
any  work  he  might  do. 

He  is  equally  indifferent  to  the  smallest  and  to  the  greatest 


BEATRIX.  103 

things,  and  is  compelled  by  the  mere  weight  of  his  brain  to 
throw  himself  into  debauchery  to  abdicate  for  a  little  while 
the  irresistible  power  of  his  omnipotent  analysis.  He  is  too 
much  absorbed  by  the  seamy  side  of  genius,  and  you  may 
now  conceive  that  Camille  Maupin  should  try  to  show  him 
the  right  side. 

The  task  was  a  fascinating  one.  Claud  Vignon  believed 
himself  no  less  great  as  a  politician  than  he  was  as  a  writer ; 
but  this  Machiavelli  of  private  life  laughs  in  his  sleeve  at 
ambitious  persons,  he  knows  all  he  can  ever  know,  he  instinc- 
tively measures  his  future  life  by  his  faculties,  he  sees  himself 
great,  he  looks  obstacles  in  the  face,  perceives  the  folly  of  par- 
venus, takes  fright  or  is  disgusted,  and  lets  the  time  slip  by 
without  doing  anything.  Like  Etienne  Lousteau,  the  feuille- 
ton  writer;  like  Nathan,  the  famous  dramatic  author;  like 
Blondet,  another  journalist,  he  was  born  in  the  middle  class 
to  which  we  owe  most  of  our  great  writers. 

"Which  way  did  you  come?"  said  Mademoiselle  des 
Touches,  coloring  with  pleasure  or  surprise. 

"In  at  the  door,"  replied  Claud  Vignon  drily. 

"  Well,"  she  replied,  with  a  shrug,  **I  know  you  are  not  a 
man  to  come  in  at  the  window." 

"  Scaling  a  balcony  is  a  sort  of  cross  of  honor  for  the 
beloved  fair." 

"Enough!"  said  F^licite. 

"  I  am  in  the  way  ?  "  said  Claud  Vignon. 

"Monsieur,"  said  the  guileless  Calyste,  "this  letter " 

"  Keep  it ;  I  ask  no  questions.  At  our  age  such  things 
need  no  words,"  said  he,  in  a  satirical  tone,  interrupting 
Calyste. 

"  But,  indeed,  monsieur "  Calyste  began  indignantly. 

"Be  calm,  young  man;  my  indulgence  for  feelings  is 
boundless." 

"  My  dear  Calyste,"  said  Camille,  anxious  to  speak. 

"  Dear?"  said  Vignon,  interrupting  her. 


104  BEATRIX. 

"Claud  is  jesting,"  Camille  went  on,  addressing  Calyste; 
**  and  he  is  wrong — with  you  who  know  nothing  of  Paris  and 
its 'chaff.'" 

"I  had  no  idea  that  I  was  funny,"  said  Vignon  very 
gravely. 

"  By  what  road  did  you  come  ?  For  two  hours  I  have 
never  ceased  looking  out  toward  le  Croisic." 

"You  were  not  incessantly  looking,"  replied  Vignon. 

"You  are  intolerable  with  your  banter." 

"Banter!     I?" 

Calyste  rose. 

"  You  are  not  so  badly  off  here  that  you  need  leave,"  said 
Vignon. 

"  On  the  contrary,"  said  the  indignant  youth,  to  whom 
Camille  gave  her  hand,  which  he  kissed  instead  of  merely 
taking  it,  and  left  on  it  a  scalding  tear. 

"  I  wish  I  were  that  little  young  man,"  said  the  critic,  seat- 
ing himself,  and  taking  the  end  of  the  hookah.  "  How  he 
will  love  !  " 

"  Too  much,  for  then  he  will  not  be  loved,"  said  Made- 
moiselle des  Touches,  "  Madame  de  Rochefide  is  coming 
here." 

"  Good  !  "  said  Claud ;  "  and  with  Conti  ?  " 

"  She  will  stay  here  alone,  but  he  is  bringing  her." 

"  Have  they  quarreled  ?  " 

"No." 

"  Play  me  a  sonata  by  Beethoven  ;  I  know  nothing  of  the 
music  he  has  written  for  the  piano." 

Claud  filled  the  bowl  of  the  hookah  with  tobacco,  watching 
Camille  more  closely  than  she  knew ;  a  hideous  idea  possessed 
him ;  he  fancied  that  a  straightforward  woman  believed  she 
had  duped  him.     The  situation  was  a  new  one. 

Calyste  as  he  went  away  was  thinking  neither  of  Beatrix  de 
Rochefide  nor  her  letter ;  he  was  furious  with  Claud  Vignon, 


BE  A  TRIX.  106 

full  of  wrath  at  what  he  thought  want  of  delicacy,  and  of  pity 
for  poor  Felicite.  How  could  a  man  be  loved  by  that  perfect 
woman  and  not  worship  her  on  his  knees,  not  trust  her  on  the 
faith  of  a  look  or  a  smile  ?  After  being  the  privileged  spec- 
tator of  the  suffering  Felicity  had  endured  while  waiting,  he 
felt  an  impulse  to  rend  that  pale,  cold  spectre.  He  knew 
nothing  himself,  as  Felicite  had  told  him,  of  the  sort  of  decep- 
tive witticisms  in  which  the  satirists  of  the  press  excel.  To 
him  love  was  a  human  form  of  religion. 

On  seeing  him  cross  the  courtyard,  his  mother  could  not 
restrain  a  joyful  exclamation,  and  old  Mademoiselle  du  Guenic 
whistled  for  Mariotte. 

**  Mariotte,  here  is  the  child ;  give  us  the  lubine.^' 

"I  saw  him,  mademoiselle,"  replied  the  cook. 

His  mother,  a  little  distressed  by  the  melancholy  that  sat 
on  Calyste's  brow,  never  suspecting  that  it  was  caused  by  what 
he  thought  Vignon's  bad  treatment  of  Felicit6,  took  up  her 
worsted  work.  The  old  aunt  pulled  out  her  knitting.  The 
Baron  gave  up  his  easy-chair  to  his  son  and  walked  up  and 
down  the  room  as  if  to  unstiffen  his  legs  before  taking  a  turn 
in  the  garden.  No  Flemish  or  Dutch  picture  represents  an 
interior  of  richer  tone  or  furnished  with  more  happily  suitable 
figures.  The  handsome  youth,  dressed  in  black  velvet,  the 
mother,  still  so  handsome,  and  the  two  old  folk,  in  the  setting 
of  ancient  paneling,  were  the  expression  of  the  most  touching 
domestic  harmony. 

Fanny  longed  to  question  Calyste,  but  he  had  taken  Beatrix's 
letter  out  of  his  pocket — the  letter  which  was,  perhaps,  to  de- 
stroy all  the  happiness  this  noble  family  enjoyed.  As  he  un- 
folded it,  Calyste's  lively  imagination  called  up  the  Marquise 
dressed  as  Camille  Maupin  had  fantastically  described  her. 


106  BEATRIX. 

From  Beatrix  to  Feliciti. 

"  Gis-iiOA,  July  2d. 

**  I  have  not  written  to  you,  my  dear  friend,  since  our  stay 
at  Florence,  but  Venice  and  Rome  took  up  all  my  time ; 
and  happiness,  as  you  know,  fills  a  large  place  in  life.  We 
are  neither  of  us  likely  to  take  strict  account  of  a  letter  more 
or  less.  I  am  a  little  tired ;  I  insisted  on  seeing  everything, 
and  to  a  mind  not  easily  satiated  the  repetition  of  pleasures 
brings  fatigue.  Our  friend  had  great  triumphs  at  the  Scala, 
at  the  Fenice,  and  these  last  three  days  at  the  San  Carlo. 
Three  Italian  operas  in  two  years  !  You  cannot  say  that  love 
has  made  him  idle. 

"  We  have  been  warmly  welcomed  everywhere,  but  I  should 
have  preferred  silence  and  solitude.  Is  not  that  the  only 
mode  of  life  that  suits  a  woman  in  direct  antagonism  with  the 
world?  This  was  what  I  had  expected.  Love,  my  dear,  is  a 
more  exacting  master  than  marriage ;  but  it  is  sweet  to  serve 
him.  After  having  played  at  love  all  my  life,  I  did  not  know 
that  I  must  see  the  world  again,  even  in  glimpses,  and  the  atten- 
tions paid  me  on  all  hands  were  so  many  wounds.  I  was  no 
longer  on  an  equal  footing  with  women  of  the  highest  type. 
The  more  kindly  I  was  treated,  the  more  was  my  inferiority 
marked.  Gennaro  did  not  understand  these  subtleties,  but  he 
was  so  happy  that  I  should  have  been  graceless  if  I  had  not 
sacrificed  such  petty  vanities  to  a  thing  so  splendid  as  an 
artist's  life. 

"We  live  only  by  love,  while  men  live  by  love  and  action 
— otherwise  they  would  not  be  men.  There  are,  however, 
immense  disadvantages  to  a  woman  in  the  position  in  which 
I  have  placed  myself;  and  you  have  avoided  them.  You 
have  remained  great  in  the  face  of  the  world  which  had  no 
rights  over  you ;  you  have  perfect  liberty,  and  I  have  lost 
mine.  I  am  speaking  only  with  reference  to  concerns  of  the 
heart,  and  not  to  social  matters,  which  I  have  wholly  sacri- 


BE  A  TRIX.  107 

ficed.  You  might  be  vain  and  willful,  you  might  have  all  the 
graces  of  a  woman  in  love,  who  can  give  or  refuse  anything  as 
she  chooses ;  you  had  preserved  the  privilege  of  being  capri- 
cious, even  in  the  interest  of  your  affection  and  of  the  man 
you  might  like.  In  short,  you,  even  now,  have  still  your  own 
sanction  ;  I  have  not  the  freedom  of  feeling  which,  as  I  think, 
it  is  always  delightful  to  assert  in  love,  even  when  the  passion 
is  an  eternal  one.  I  have  not  the  right  to  quarrel  in  jest, 
which  we  women  so  highly  and  so  rightly  prize  :  is  it  not  the 
line  by  which  we  sound  the  heart  ?  I  dare  not  threaten,  I 
must  rely  for  attractiveness  on  infinite  docility  and  sweetness, 
I  must  be  impressive  through  the  immenseness  of  my  love ;  I 
would  rather  die  than  give  up  Gennaro,  for  the  holiness  of  my 
passion  is  its  only  plea  for  pardon. 

**  I  did  not  hesitate  between  my  social  dignity  and  my  own 
little  dignity  —  a  secret  between  me  and  my  conscience. 
Though  I  have  fits  of  melancholy,  like  the  clouds  which  float 
across  the  clearest  sky,  to  which  we  women  like  to  give  way, 
I  silence  them  at  once;  they  would  look  like  regret.  Dear 
me  !  I  so  fully  understood  the  extent  of  my  debt  to  him  that 
I  have  equipped  myself  with  unlimited  indulgence;  but 
hitherto  Gennaro  has  not  aroused  my  sensitive  jealousy.  In- 
deed, I  cannot  see  how  my  dear  great  genius  can  do  wrong. 
I  am,  my  dear,  rather  like  the  devotees  who  argue  with  their 
God,  for  is  it  not  to  you  that  I  owe  my  happiness  ?  And  you 
cannot  doubt  that  I  have  often  thought  of  you. 

"  At  last  I  have  seen  Italy  !  As  you  saw  it,  as  it  ought  to 
be  seen,  illuminated  to  the  soul  by  love,  as  it  is  by  its  glorious 
sun  and  its  masterpieces  of  art.  I  pity  those  who  are  inces- 
santly fired  by  the  admiration  it  calls  for  at  every  step  when 
they  have  not  a  hand  to  clasp,  a  heart  into  which  they  may 
pour  the  overflow  of  emotions  which  then  subside  as  they 
grow  deeper.  These  two  years  are  to  me  all  my  life,  and  ray 
memory  will  have  reaped  a  rich  harvest.  Did  you  not,  as  I 
did,  dream  of  settling  at  Chiavari,  of  buying  a  palace  at 


108  BEATRIX. 

Venice,  a  villa  at  Sorrento,  a  house  at  Florence  ?  Do  not  all 
women  who  love  shun  the  world  ?  And  I,  for  ever  an  out- 
cast, could  I  help  longing  to  bury  myself  in  a  lovely  land- 
scape, in  a  heap  of  flowers,  looking  out  on  the  pretty  sea,  or 
a  valley  as  good  as  the  sea,  like  the  valley  you  look  on  from 
Fiesole  ? 

"  But,  alas,  we  are  poor  artists,  and  want  of  money  is  drag- 
ging the  wanderers  back  to  Paris  again.  Gennaro  cannot 
bear  me  to  feel  that  I  have  left  all  my  luxury,  and  he  is 
bringing  a  new  work,  a  grand  opera,  to  be  rehearsed  in  Paris. 
Even  at  the  cost  of  my  love,  I  cannot  bear  to  meet  one  of 
those  looks  from  a  woman  or  a  man  which  would  make  me 
feel  murderous.  Yes !  for  I  could  hack  any  one  to  pieces 
who  should  condescend  to  pity  me,  should  offer  me  the  pro- 
tection of  patronage — like  that  enchanting  Chateauneuf  who, 
in  the  time  of  Henri  III.,  I  think,  spurred  her  horse  to  trample 
down  the  Provost  of  Paris  for  some  such  offense. 

"  So  I  am  writing  to  tell  you  that  without  delay  I  shall 
arrive  to  join  you  at  les  Touches,  and  wait  for  our  Gennaro 
in  that  quiet  spot.  You  see  how  bold  I  am  with  my  bene- 
factress and  sister.  Still,  the  magnitude  of  the  obligation 
will  not  betray  my  heart,  like  some  others,  into  base  ingrat- 
itude. 

"You  have  told  me  so  much  about  the  difficulties  of  the 
journey  that  I  shall  try  to  reach  le  Croisic  by  sea.  This  idea 
occurred  to  me  on  hearing  that  there  was  here  a  little  Danish 
vessel,  loaded  with  marble,  which  will  put  in  at  le  Croisic 
to  take  up  salt  on  its  way  back  to  the  Baltic.  By  this  voyage 
I  shall  avoid  the  fatigue  and  expense  of  traveling  by  post.  I 
know  you  are  not  alone,  and  I  am  glad  of  it ;  I  had  some 
remorse  in  the  midst  of  my  happiness.  You  are  the  only 
person  with  whom  I  could  bear  to  be  alone  without  Conti. 
Will  it  not  be  a  pleasure  to  you,  too,  to  have  a  woman  with 
you  who  will  understand  your  happiness  and  not  be  jealous 
of  it? 


BEATRIX.  109 

"Well,  till  our  meeting  !  The  wind  is  fair,  and  I  am  off, 
sending  you  a  kiss." 

"  Well,  well,  she  too  knows  how  to  love  !  "  said  Calyste  to 
himself,  folding  up  the  letter,  with  a  sad  expression. 

This  sadness  flashed  on  his  mother's  heart  like  a  gleam 
lighting  up  an  abyss.  The  Baron  had  just  left  the  room. 
Fanny  bolted  the  door  to  the  turret,  and  returned  to  lean 
over  the  back  of  the  chair  in  which  her  boy  was  sitting,  as 
Dido's  sister  bends  over  her  in  Guerin's  picture.  She  kissed 
his  forehead  and  said — 

"  What  is  the  matter,  my  child  ?  what  makes  you  unhappy? 
You  promised  to  account  to  me  for  your  constant  visits  to  les 
Touches;  I  ought  to  bless  its  mistress,  you  say?" 

"Yes,  indeed,"  he  replied.  "She,  my  dear  mother,  has 
shown  me  all  the  defects  of  my  education  in  these  times, 
when  men  of  noble  birth  must  acquire  personal  merit  if  they 
are  to  restore  their  names  to  life  again.  I  was  as  remote 
from  my  day  as  Guerande  is  from  Paris.  She  has  been,  in  a 
way,  the  mother  of  my  intelligence." 

"  Not  for  that  can  I  bless  her  !  "  said  the  Baroness,  her 
eyes  filling  with  tears. 

"  Mother,"  cried  Calyste,  on  whose  forehead  the  hot  tears 
fell,  drops  of  heartbroken  motherhood,  "mother,  do  not  cry. 
Just  now,  when,  to  do  her  a  pleasure,  I  proposed  scouring 
the  coast  from  the  custom-house  hut  to  the  Bourg  de  Batz, 
she  said  to  me,  '  How  anxious  your  mother  would  be  ! '  " 

"  She  said  so  !    Then  I  can  forgive  her  much,"  said  Fanny. 

"  Felicite  wishes  me  well,"  replied  Calyste,  "and  she  often 
checks  herself  from  saying  some  of  those  hasty  and  doubtful 
things  which  artists  let  fall,  so  as  not  to  shake  my  faith — 
knowing  that  it  is  not  immovable.  She  has  told  me  of  the 
life  led  in  Paris  by  youths  of  the  highest  rank,  going  from 
their  country  homes  as  I  might  from  mine,  leaving  their 
family  without  any  fortune,  and  making  great  wealth  by  the 


110  BEA  TRIX. 

force  of  their  will  and  their  intelligence.  1  can  do  what  the 
Baron  de  Rastignac  has  done,  and  he  is  in  the  Ministry. 
She  gives  me  lessons  on  the  piano,  she  teaches  rae  Italian, 
she  has  let  me  into  a  thousand  social  secrets  of  which  no  one 
has  an  inkling  at  Guerande.  She  could  not  give  me  the 
treasures  of  her  love ;  she  gives  me  those  of  her  vast  intellect, 
her  wit,  her  genius.  She  does  not  choose  to  be  a  mere  pleas- 
ure, but  a  light  to  me ;  she  offends  none  of  my  creeds ;  she 
believes  in  the  nobility,  she  loves  Brittany " 

"  She  has  changed  our  Calyste,"  said  the  old  blind  woman, 
interrupting  him,  "for  I  understand  nothing  of  this  talk. 
You  have  a  fine  old  house  over  your  head,  nephew,  old  rela- 
tions who  worship  you,  good  old  servants  ;  you  can  marry  a 
good  little  Bretonne,  a  pious  and  well-bred  girl  who  will  make 
you  happy,  and  you  can  reserve  your  ambitions  for  your  eldest 
son,  who  will  be  three  times  as  rich  as  you  are  if  you  are  wise 
enough  to  live  quietly  and  economically,  in  the  shade  and  in 
the  peace  of  the  Lord,  so  as  to  redeem  the  family  estates. 
That  is  as  simple  as  a  Breton  heart.  You  will  get  rich  less 
quickly,  but  far  more  surely." 

"  Your  aunt  is  right,  my  darling ;  she  cares  as  much  for 
your  happiness  as  I  do.  If  I  should  not  succeed  in  arranging 
your  marriage  with  Miss  Margaret,  your  uncle  Lord  Fitz- 
William's  daughter,  it  is  almost  certain  that  Mademoiselle  de 
Pen-Hoel  will  leave  her  money  to  either  of  her  nieces  you  may 
prefer." 

"And  there  will  be  a  few  crown -pieces  here,"  said  the  old 
aunt  in  a  low  mysterious  voice. 

"  I !  Marry  at  my  age?  "  said  he,  with  one  of  those  looks 
which  weaken  a  mother's  reason.  "Am  I  to  have  no  sweet 
and  crazy  love-making?  Am  I  never  to  tremble,  thrill, 
flutter,  fear,  lie  down  under  a  pitiless  gaze  and  presently  melt 
it  ?  May  I  never  know  the  beauty  that  is  free,  the  fancy  of 
the  soul,  the  clouds  that  fleet  over  the  serene  blue  of  happi- 
ness and  that  the  breath  of  enjoyment  blows  away  ?     May  I 


BE  A  TRIX.  HI 

never  stand  under  a  gutter-spout  without  discovering  that  it  is 
raining,  like  the  lovers  seen  by  Diderot  ?  Shall  I  never  hold 
a  burning  coal  in  the  palm  of  my  hand  like  the  Due  de  Lor- 
raine ?  Shall  I  never  climb  a  silken  rope-ladder,  nor  cling  to 
a  rotten  old  trellis  without  feeling  it  yield  ?  Am  I  never  to 
hide  in  a  closet  or  under  a  bed  ?  Must  I  know  nothing  of 
woman  but  wifely  surrender,  or  of  love  but  its  equitable  lamp- 
light ?  Is  all  my  curiosity  to  be  satiated  before  it  is  excited  ? 
Am  I  to  live  without  ever  feeling  that  fury  of  the  heart  which 
adds  to  a  man's  power?  Am  I  to  be  a  married  monk  ?  No  ! 
I  have  set  my  teeth  in  the  Paris  apple  of  civilization.  Do  you 
not  perceive  that  by  your  chaste,  your  ignorant  family  habits  you 
have  laid  the  fire  that  is  consuming  me,  and  that  I  shall  be 
burnt  up  before  I  can  adore  the  divinity  I  see  wherever  I  turn 
— in  the  green  foliage  and  in  the  sand  glowing  in  the  sun- 
shine, and  in  all  the  beautiful,  lordly,  and  elegant  women  who 
are  described  in  the  books  and  poems  I  have  devoured  at  Ca- 
mille's  ?  Alas  !  There  is  but  one  such  woman  in  all  Guerande, 
and  that  is  you,  mother !  The  lovely  blue  birds  of  my  dreams 
come  from  Paris ;  they  live  in  the  pages  of  Lord  Byron  and 
Scott ;  they  are  Parisina,  Effie,  Minna !  Or,  again,  that 
Royal  Duchess  I  saw  on  the  moors  among  the  heath  and 
broom,  whose  beauty  sent  my  blood  with  a  rush  to  the 
heart!  " 

These  thoughts  were  clearer,  more  brilliant,  more  living,  to 
the  Baroness'  eye  than  art  can  make  them  to  the  reader ;  she 
saw  them  in  a  flash  shot  from  the  boy's  glance  like  the  arrows 
from  a  quiver  that  is  upset.  Though  she  had  never  read 
Beaumarchais,  she  thought,  as  any  woman  would,  that  it  would 
be  a  crime  to  make  this  Cherubino  marry. 

"Oh,  my  dear  boy!  "  said  she,  taking  him  in  her  arms, 
pressing  him  to  her,  and  kissing  his  beautiful  hair — still  her 
own — "  marry  when  you  please,  only  be  happy.  It  is  not  my 
part  to  tease  you." 

Mariotte  came  to  lay  the  table.     Gasselin  had  gone  out  to 


112  BEATRIX. 

exercise  Calyste's  horse,  for  he  had  not  ridden  it  these  two 
months.  The  three  women,  the  mother,  the  aunt,  and  Mari- 
otte  were  of  one  mind,  with  the  natural  cunning  of  women,  to 
make  much  of  Calyste  when  he  dined  at  home.  Breton  penu- 
riousness,  fortified  by  the  memories  and  habits  of  childhood, 
tried  to  contend  with  the  civilization  of  Paris  so  faithfully 
represented  at  les  Touches,  so  close  to  Guerande.  Mariotte 
tried  to  disgust  her  young  master  with  the  elaborate  dishes 
prepared  in  Camille  Maupin's  kitchen,  as  his  mother  and  aunt 
vied  with  each  other  in  attentions  to  enmesh  their  child  in 
the  nets  of  their  tenderness,  and  to  make  comparisons  impos- 
sible. 

**  Ah,  ha !  You  have  a  lubine  (a  sort  of  fish).  Monsieur 
Calyste,  and  snipe,  and  pancakes  such  as  you  will  never  get 
anywhere  but  here,"  said  Mariotte,  with  a  knowing  and  tri- 
umphant air,  as  she  looked  down  on  the  white  cloth,  a  perfect 
sheet  of  snow. 

After  dinner,  when  his  old  aunt  had  settled  down  to  her 
knitting  again,  when  the  cure  of  Guerande  and  the  Chevalier 
du  Halga  came  in,  attracted  by  their  game  of  mouche,  Calyste 
went  out  to  go  back  to  les  Touches,  saying  he  must  return 
Beatrix's  letter. 

Claud  Vignon  and  Mademoiselle  des  Touches  were  still  at 
table.  The  great  critic  had  a  tendency  to  greediness,  and 
this  vice  was  humored  by  Felicity,  who  knew  how  a  woman 
makes  herself  indispensable  by  such  attentions. 

The  dining-room,  lately  finished  by  considerable  additions, 
showed  how  readily  and  how  quickly  a  woman  can  marry 
the  nature,  adopt  the  profession,  the  passions,  and  the  tastes 
of  the  man  she  loves  or  means  to  love.  The  table  had  the 
rich  and  dazzling  appearance  which  modern  luxury,  seconded 
by  the  improvements  in  manufactures,  stamps  on  every  detail. 
The  noble  but  impoverished  house  of  du  Gudnic  knew  not 
the  antagonist  with  whom  it  had  to  do  battle,  nor  how  large  a 


BEATRIX.  lis 

sum  was  needed  to  contend  with  the  brand-new  plate  brought 
from  Paris  by  Mademoiselle  des  Touches,  with  her  china — 
thought  good  enough  for  the  country — her  fine  linen,  her 
silver-gilt,  all  the  trifles  on  her  table,  and  all  the  skill  of  her 
man-cook. 

Calyste  declined  to  take  any  of  the  liqueurs  contained  in 
one  of  the  beautiful  inlaid  cases  of  precious  woods,  that 
might  be  shrines. 

"Here  is  your  letter,"  he  said,  with  childish  ostentation, 
looking  at  Claud,  who  was  sipping  a  glass  of  West  India 
liqueur. 

"Well,  what  do  you  think  of  it?"  asked  Mademoiselle 
des  Touches,  tossing  the  letter  across  the  table  to  Vignon, 
who  read  it,  alternately  lifting  and  setting  down  his  glass. 

**  Why — that  the  women  of  Paris  are  very  happy;  they  all 
have  men  of  genius,  who  love  them,  to  worship." 

"  Dear  me,  you  are  still  but  a  rustic  !  "  said  Felicite,  with  a 
laugh.  "What!  You  did  not  discover  that  she  already 
loves  him  less,  that " 

"It  is  self-evident !  "  said  Claud  Vignon,  who  had  as  yet 
read  no  more  than  the  first  page.  "When  a  woman  is  really 
in  love,  does  she  trouble  her  head  in  the  least  about  her  posi- 
tion ?  Is  she  as  finely  observant  as  the  Marquise  ?  Can  she 
calculate  ?  Can  she  distinguish  ?  Our  dear  Beatrix  is  tied  to 
Conti  by  her  pride;  she  is  condemned  to  love  him,  come 
what  may." 

"  Poor  woman  !  "  said  Camille. 

Calyste  sat  staring  at  the  table,  but  he  saw  nothing.  The 
beautiful  creature  in  her  fantastic  costume,  as  sketched  by 
Felicite  that  morning,  rose  before  him,  radiant  with  light ;  she 
smiled  on  him,  she  played  with  her  fan,  and  her  other  hand, 
emerging  from  a  frill  of  lace  and  cherry-colored  velvet,  lay 
white  and  still  on  the  full  folds  of  her  magnificent  petticoat. 

"  This  is  the  very  thing  for  you,"  said  Claud  Vignon,  with 
a  sardonic  smile  at  Calyste. 
8 


114  BEATRIX. 

Calyste  was  offended  at  the  words  the  very  thing. 

"Do  not  suggest  the  idea  of  such  an  intrigue  to  the  dear 
child  ;  you  do  not  know  how  dangerous  such  a  jest  may  be. 
I  know  Beatrix ;  she  has  too  much  magnanimity  of  temper  to 
change;  beside,  Conti  will  be  with  her." 

"  Ah !  "  said  Claud  Vignon  satirically,  "  a  little  twinge  of 
jealousy,  heh  ?  ' ' 

"  Can  you  suppose  it  ?  "  said  Camille  proudly. 

"  You  are  more  clear-sighted  than  a  mother  could  be,"  re- 
plied Claud. 

"But  I  ask  you,  is  it  possible?"  and  she  looked  at  Ca- 
lyste. 

"And  yet,"  Vignon  went  on,  "they  would  be  well 
matched.  She  is  ten  years  older  than  he  is ;  he  would  be 
the  girl." 

"A  girl,  monsieur,  who  has  twice  been  under  fire  in  la 
Vendee.  If  there  had  but  been  twenty  thousand  of  such 
girls " 

"I  was  singing  your  praise,"  said  Vignon,  "an  easier 
matter  than  singeing  your  beard." 

"  I  have  a  sword  to  cut  the  beards  of  those  who  wear  them 
too  long,"  retorted  Calyste. 

"  And  I  have  a  tongue  that  cuts  sharply  too,"  replied 
Vignon,  smiling.  "  We  are  Frenchmen — the  affair  can  be 
arranged." 

Mademoiselle  des  Touches  gave  Calyste  a  beseeching  look, 
which  calmed  him  at  once. 

"Why,"  said  F6licit6,  to  end  the  discussion,  "  why  is  it 
that  youths,  like  my  Calyste  there,  always  begin  by  loving 
women  no  longer  young?  " 

"  I  know  of  no  more  guileless  and  generous  impulse,"  said 
Vignon.  "  It  is  the  consequence  of  the  delightful  qualities 
of  youth.  And,  beside,  to  what  end  would  old  women  come 
if  it  were  not  for  such  love?  You  are  young  and  hand- 
some, and  will    be   for    twenty  years    to  come;  before  you 


BEATRIX.  115 

we  may  speak  plainly,"  he  went  on,  with  a  keen  glance  at 
Mademoiselle  des  Touches.  "In  the  first  place,  the  semi-dow- 
agers to  whom  very  young  men  attach  themselves  know  how 
to  love  far  better  than  young  women.  A  youth  is  too  like  a 
woman  for  a  young  woman  to  attract  him.  Such  a  passion 
is  too  suggestive  of  the  myth  of  Narcissus.  Beside  this,  there 
is,  I  believe,  a  common  want  of  experience  which  keeps  them 
asunder.  Hence  the  reason  which  makes  it  true  that  a  young 
woman's  heart  can  only  be  understood  by  a  man  in  whom 
long  practice  is  veiled  by  his  real  or  assumed  passion  is  the 
same  as  that  which,  allowing  for  differences  of  nature,  makes 
a  woman  past  her  youth  more  seductive  to  a  boy ;  he  is  in- 
tensely conscious  that  he  will  succeed  with  her,  and  the 
woman's  vanity  is  intensely  flattered  by  his  pursuit  of  her. 

**  Then,  again,  it  is  natural  that  the  young  should  seize  on 
fruit,  and  autumn  offers  many  fine  and  luscious  kinds.  Is  it 
nothing  to  meet  those  looks,  at  once  bold  and  reserved,  lan- 
guishing at  the  proper  moments,  soft  with  the  last  gleams  of 
love,  so  warm,  so  soothing  ?  And  the  elaborate  elegance  of 
speech,  the  splendid  ripe  shoulders  so  finely  filled  out,  the 
ample  roundness,  the  rich  and  undulating  plumpness,  the 
hands  full  of  dimples,  the  pulpy,  well-nourished  skin,  the 
brow  full  of  overflowing  sentiment,  on  which  the  light  lingers, 
the  hair,  so  carefully  cherished  and  dressed,  where  fine  part- 
ings of  white  skin  are  delicately  traced,  and  the  throat  with 
those  fine  curves,  the  inviting  nape  where  every  resource  of 
art  is  applied  to  bring  out  the  contrast  between  the  hair  and 
the  tones  of  the  flesh,  to  emphasize  all  the  audacity  of  life 
and  love  ?  Dark  women  then  get  some  of  the  tones  of  the 
fairest,  the  amber  shade  of  maturity. 

"  Then,  again,  these  women  betray  their  knowledge  of  the 
world  in  their  smiles,  and  display  it  in  their  conversation ; 
they  know  how  to  talk  ;  they  will  set  the  whole  world  before 
you  to  raise  a  smile  ;  they  have  sublime  touches  of  dignity 
and  pride  \  they  can  shriek  with  despair  in  a  way  to  break 


116  BEATRIX. 

your  heart,  wail  a  farewell  to  love,  knowing  that  it  is  futile, 
and  only  resuscitates  passion ;  they  grow  young  again  by  dint 
of  varying  the  most  desperately  simple  things.  They  con- 
stantly expect  to  be  contradicted  as  to  the  falling  oflf  they 
so  coquettishly  proclaim,  and  the  intoxication  of  their  tri- 
umph is  contagious.  Their  devotion  is  complete ;  they  listen  ; 
in  short,  they  love ;  they  clutch  at  love  as  a  man  condemned 
to  death  clings  to  the  smallest  trifles  of  living ;  they  are  like 
those  lawyers  who  can  urge  every  plea  in  a  case  without  fa- 
tiguing the  court ;  they  exhaust  every  means  in  their  power  j 
indeed,  perfect  love  can  only  be  known  in  them. 

**  I  doubt  if  they  are  ever  forgotten,  any  more  than  we  can 
forget  anything  vast  and  sublime. 

**  A  young  woman  has  a  thousand  other  things  to  amuse 
her,  these  women  have  nothing ;  they  have  no  conceit  left,  no 
vanity,  no  meanness;  their  love  is  the  Loire  at  its  mouth, 
immense,  swelled  by  every  disenchantment,  every  affluent  of 
life,  and  that  is  why — my  daughter  is  dumb!"  he  ended, 
seeing  Mademoiselle  des  Touches  in  an  attitude  of  ecstasy, 
clutching  Calyste's  hand  tightly,  perhaps  to  thank  him  for 
having  been  the  cause  of  such  a  moment  for  her,  of  such  a 
tribute  of  praise  that  she  could  detect  no  snare  in  it. 

All  through  the  evening  Claud  Vignon  and  Felicite  were 
brilliantly  witty,  telling  anecdotes  and  describing  the  life  of 
Paris  to  Calyste,  who  quite  fell  in  love  with  Claud,  for  wit 
exerts  a  peculiar  charm  on  men  of  feeling. 

"  I  should  not  be  in  the  least  surprised  to  see  Madame  de 
Rochefide  land  here  to-morrow  with  Conti,  who  is  accom- 
panying her  no  doubt,"  said  Claud  at  the  end  of  the  evening. 
"  When  I  came  up  from  le  Croisic  the  seamen  had  spied  a 
small  ship,  Danish,  Swedish,  or  Norwegian." 

This  speech  brought  the  color  to  Camille's  cheeks,  calm  as 
she  was. 

That  night,  again,  Madame  du  Guenic  sat  up  for  her  son 


BEATRIX.  117 

till  one  o'clock,  unable  to  imagine  what  he  could  be  doing  at 
les  Touches  if  Felicite  did  not  love  him. 

"  He  must  be  in  the  way,"  thought  this  delightful  mother. 

"What  have  you  had  to  talk  about  so  long?"  she  asked, 
as  she  saw  him  come  in. 

"  Oh,  mother  !  I  never  spent  a  more  delightful  evening. 
Genius  is  a  great,  a  most  sublime  thing  !  Why  did  you  not 
bestow  genius  on  me?  With  genius  a  man  must  be  able  to 
choose  the  woman  he  loves  from  all  the  world ;  she  must 
inevitably  be  his  !  " 

"But  you  are  handsome,  my  Calyste." 

"Beauty  has  no  place  but  in  women.  And,  beside,  Claud 
Vignon  is  fine.  Men  of  genius  have  a  brow  that  beams,  eyes 
where  lightnings  play — and  I,  unhappy  wretch,  I  only  know 
how  to  love." 

"They  say  that  is  all-sufficient,  my  darling,"  said  she, 
kissing  his  forehead. 

"Really,  truly?" 

"I  have  been  told  so.     I  have  had  no  experience." 

It  was  now  Calyste's  turn  to  kiss  his  mother's  hand  with 
reverence. 

"I  will  love  for  all  those  who  might  have  been  your 
adorers,"  said  he. 

"Dear  child,  it  is  in  some  degree  your  duty;  you  have 
inherited  all  my  feelings.  So  do  not  be  rash ;  try  to  love 
only  high-souled  women,  if  you  must  love." 

What  young  man,  welling  over  with  passion  and  suppressed 
vitality,  but  would  have  had  the  triumphant  idea  of  going  to 
le  Croisic  to  see  Madame  de  Rochefide  land,  so  as  to  be  able 
to  study  her,  himself  unknown?  Calyste  greatly  amazed  his 
father  and  mother,  who  knew  nothing  of  the  fair  Marquise's 
arrival,  by  setting  out  in  the  morning  without  waiting  for 
breakfast.  Heaven  knows  how  briskly  the  boy  stepped  out. 
He  felt  as  if  some  new  strength  had  come  to  his  aid,  he  was 


118  BEATRIX. 

SO  light  j  he  kept  close  under  the  walls  of  les  Touches  to  avoid 
being  seen.  The  delightful  boy  was  ashamed  of  his  ardor,  and 
had  perhaps  a  miserable  fear  of  being  laughed  at ;  Felicite  and 
Claud  Vignon  were  so  horribly  keen -sighted  !  And,  then,  in 
such  cases  a  youth  believes  that  his  forehead  is  transparent. 

He  followed  the  zigzag  path  across  the  maze  of  salt-marshes, 
reached  the  sands,  and  was  across  them  with  a  skip  and  a 
hop,  in  spite  of  the  scorching  sun  that  twinkled  on  them. 

This  brought  him  to  the  edge  of  the  strand,  banked  up 
with  a  breakwater,  near  which  stands  a  house  where  travelers 
may  find  shelter  from  storms,  sea-gales,  rain,  and  the  whirl- 
wind. It  is  not  always  possible  to  cross  the  little  strait,  nor 
are  there  always  boats,  and  it  is  convenient,  while  they  are 
crossing  from  the  port,  to  have  shelter  for  the  horses,  asses, 
merchandise,  or  passengers'  luggage.  From  thence  men  can 
scan  the  open  sea  and  the  port  of  le  Croisic ;  and  from  thence 
Calyste  soon  discerned  two  boats  coming,  loaded  with  bag- 
gage— bundles,  trunks,  carpet-bags,  and  cases,  of  which  the 
shape  and  size  proclaimed  to  the  natives  the  arrival  of  extra- 
ordinary things,  such  as  could  only  belong  to  a  voyager  of 
distinction. 

In  one  of  these  boats  sat  a  young  woman  with  a  straw  hat 
and  green  veil,  accompanied  by  a  man.  This  boat  was  the 
first  to  come  to  land.  Calyste  felt  a  thrill ;  but  their  appear- 
ance showed  them  to  be  a  maid  and  a  manservant,  and  he 
dared  not  question  them. 

"Are  you  crossing  to  le  Croisic,  Monsieur  Calyste?" 
asked  one  of  the  boatmen,  who  knew  him;  but  he  replied 
only  by  a  negative  shake  of  the  head,  ashamed  of  having  his 
name  mentioned. 

Calyste  was  enchanted  at  the  sight  of  a  trunk  covered  with 
waterproof  canvas,  on  which  he  read  Madame  la  Marquise 
DE  RoCHEFiDE.  The  name  glittered  in  his  eyes  like  some 
talisman ;  it  had  to  him  a  purport  of  mysterious  doom ;  he 
knew  beyond  a  shadow  of  a  doubt  that  he  should  fall  in  love 


BEATRIX.  119 

with  this  woman ;  the  smallest  things  relating  to  her  inter- 
ested him  already,  spurred  his  fancy  and  his  curiosity.  Why? 
In  the  burning  desert  of  its  immeasurable  and  objectless  de- 
sires does  not  youth  put  forth  all  its  powers  toward  the  first 
woman  who  comes  within  reach  ?  Beatrix  had  fallen  heir  to 
the  love  that  Camille  had  disdained. 

Calyste  watched  the  landing  of  the  baggage,  looking  out 
from  time  to  time  at  le  Croisic,  hoping  to  see  a  boat  come 
out  of  the  harbor,  cross  to  this  little  headland,  and  reveal  to 
him  the  Beatrix  who  had  already  become  to  him  what  another 
Beatrix  was  to  Dante,  an  eternal  statue  of  marble  on  whose 
hands  he  would  hang  his  flowers  and  wreaths.  He  stood  with 
his  arms  folded,  lost  in  the  dream  of  expectancy.  A  thing 
worthy  of  remark,  but  which  nevertheless  has  never  been  re- 
marked, is  the  way  in  which  we  frequently  subordinate  our 
feelings  to  our  will,  how  we  pledge  ourself  to  ourself  as  it 
were,  and  how  we  make  our  fate;  chance  has  certainly  far 
less  share  in  it  than  we  suppose. 

"  I  see  no  horses,"  said  the  maid,  sitting  on  a  trunk. 

"And  I  see  no  carriage-road,"  said  the  valet. 

**  Well,  horses  have  certainly  been  here,"  replied  the  woman, 
pointing  to  their  traces.  "Monsieur,"  said  she,  addressing 
Calyste,  "  is  that  the  road  leading  to  Guerande?" 

"Yes,"  said  he,  "whom  are  you  expecting?" 

"We  were  told  that  we  should  be  met,  fetched  to  les 
Touches.  If  they  are  very  late,  I  do  not  know  how  madame 
can  dress,"  said  she  to  the  man.  "You  had  better  walk  on 
to  les  Touches.     What  a  land  of  savages  !  " 

It  dawned  on  Calyste  that  he  was  in  a  false  position. 

"Then  your  mistress  is  going  to  les  Touches?"  he  asked. 

"Mademoiselle  came  to  meet  her  at  seven  this  morning," 
was  the  reply.     "  Ah  !  here  come  the  horses." 

Calyste  fled,  running  back  to  Guerande  with  the  swiftness 
and  lightness  of  a  chamois,  and  doubling  like  a  hare  to  avoid 
being  seen  by  the  servants  from  les  Touches ;  still,  he  met 


120  BEATRIX, 

two  of  them  in  the  narrow  way  across  the  marsh  which  he 
had  to  cross. 

**  Shall  I  go  in  ?  Shall  I  not  ?  "  he  asked  himself  as  he  saw 
the  tops  of  the  pine  trees  of  les  Touches. 

He  was  afraid ;  he  returned  to  Guerande,  hang-dog  and 
repentant,  and  walked  up  and  down  the  mall,  where  he  con- 
tinued the  discussion  with  himself. 

He  started  as  he  caught  sight  of  les  Touches,  and  studied 
the  weathercocks. 

"She  can  have  no  idea  of  my  excitement,"  said  he  to 
himself. 

His  wandering  thoughts  became  so  many  grapnels  that 
caught  in  his  heart  and  held  the  Marquise  there.  Calyste 
had  felt  none  of  these  terrors,  these  anticipatory  joys  with 
regard  to  Camille ;  he  had  first  met  her  on  horseback,  and 
his  desire  had  sprung  up,  as  at  the  sight  of  a  beautiful  flower 
he  might  have  longed  to  pluck.  These  vacillations  constitute 
a  sort  of  poem  in  a  timid  soul.  Fired  by  the  first  flames  of 
imagination,  these  souls  rise  up  in  wrath,  are  appeased,  and 
eager  by  turns,  and  in  silence  and  solitude  reach  the  utmost 
heights  of  love  before  they  have  even  spoken  to  the  object  of 
so  many  struggles. 

Calyste  saw  from  afar,  on  the  mall,  the  Chevalier  du  Halga, 
walking  with  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel ;  he  hid  himself. 
The  chevalier  and  the  old  lady,  believing  themselves  alone  on 
the  mall,  were  talking  aloud. 

"Since  Charlotte  de  Kergarouet  is  coming  to  you,"  said 
the  chevalier,  "keep  her  three  or  four  months.  How  can 
you  expect  her  to  flirt  with  Calyste  ?  She  never  stays  here 
long  enough  to  attempt  it  \  whereas,  if  they  see  each  other 
every  day,  the  two  children  will  end  by  being  desperately  in 
love,  and  you  will  see  them  married  this  winter.  If  you  say 
two  words  of  your  plans  to  Charlotte,  she  will  at  once  say  four 
to  Calyste;  and  a  girl  of  sixteen  will  certainly  win  the  day 
against  a  woman  of  forty-something  !  " 


BEATRIX.  121 

The  two  old  folk  turned  to  retrace  their  steps.  Calyste 
heard  no  more,  but  he  had  understood  what  Mademoiselle  de 
Pen-Hoel's  plan  was.  In  his  present  frame  of  mind  nothing 
could  be  more  disastrous.  Is  it  in  the  fever  of  a  preconceived 
passion  that  a  young  man  will  accept  as  his  wife  a  girl  found 
for  him  by  others  ?  Calyste, who  cared  not  a  straw  for  Charlotte 
de  Kergarouet,  felt  inclined  to  repulse  her.  Considerations  of 
money  could  not  touch  him ;  he  had  been  accustomed  from 
childhood  to  the  modest  style  of  his  father's  house ;  beside, 
seeing  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel  live  as  poorly  as  the  Gudnics 
themselves,  he  had  no  notion  of  her  wealth.  And  a  youth 
brought  up  as  Calyste  had  been  would  not,  in  any  case,  con- 
sider anything  but  feeling ;  and  all  his  mind  was  set  on  the 
Marquise. 

Compared  with  the  portrait  drawn  by  Camille,  what  was 
Charlotte?  The  companion  of  his  childhood,  whom  he 
treated  as  his  sister. 

He  did  not  get  home  until  five  o'clock.  When  he  went 
into  the  room,  his  mother,  with  a  melancholy  smile,  handed 
him  a  note  from  Mademoiselle  des  Touches,  as  follows : 

"My  dear  Calyste: — The  beautiful  Marquise  de  Roche- 
fide  has  arrived  ;  we  count  on  you  to  do  honor  to  her  advent. 
Claud,  always  satirical,  declares  that  you  will  be  Bice  and 
she  Dante.  The  honor  of  Brittany  and  of  the  Gunnies  is  at 
stake  when  there  is  a  Casteran  to  be  welcomed.  So  let  us 
meet  soon.     Yours, 

**  Camille  Maupin. 

"  Come  as  you  are,  without  ceremony,  or  we  shall  look 
ridiculous." 

Calyste  showed  his  mother  the  note,  and  went  at  once. 
"What  are  these  Casterans?"  said  she  to  the  Baron. 
"An   old   Norman   family,  related   to  William   the   Con- 


122  BEATRIX. 

queror,"  he  replied.  "  Their  arms  are  In  tierce  per  fess  azure 
gules  and  or,  a  horse  rearing  argent  hoofed  or.  The  beautiful 
creature  for  whom  le  Gars  was  killed  at  Fougdres  in  1800  was 
the  daughter  of  a  Casteran,  who  became  a  nun  at  Seez  and 
was  made  abbess,  after  being  thrown  over  by  the  Due  de 
Verneuil." 

"And  the  Rochefides?" 

**  I  do  not  know  the  name ;  I  should  want  to  see  their 
arms,"  said  he. 

The  Baroness  was  a  little  relieved  at  hearing  that  the  Mar- 
quise Beatrix  de  Rochefide  was  of  an  old  family ;  still,  she 
felt  some  alarm  at  knowing  that  her  son  was  exposed  to  fresh 
fascinations. 

Calyste,  as  he  walked,  felt  the  most  violent  and  yet  de- 
lightful impulses ;  his  throat  was  choked,  his  heart  full,  his 
brain  confused ;  he  was  devoured  by  fever.  He  wanted  to 
walk  slower,  but  a  superior  power  urged  him  on.  All  young 
men  have  known  this  perturbation  of  the  senses  caused  by  a 
vague  hope  :  a  subtle  fire  flames  within  and  raises  a  halo,  like 
the  glory  shown  about  the  divine  persons  in  a  sacred  picture, 
through  which  they  see  nature  in  a  glow  and  woman  radiant. 
Are  they  not,  then,  like  the  saints  themselves,  full  of  faith, 
ardor,  hope,  and  purity? 

The  young  Breton  found  the  whole  party  in  Camille's  little 
private  drawing-room.  It  was  by  this  time  nearly  six  o'clock ; 
through  the  windows  the  sinking  sun  shed  a  ruddy  light, 
broken  by  the  trees ;  the  air  was  still,  the  room  was  full  of 
the  soft  gloom  that  women  love  so  well. 

**  Here  is  the  member  for  Brittany,"  said  Camille  Maupin, 
smiling  to  her  friend,  as  Calyste  lifted  the  tapestry  curtain 
over  the  door.     "As  punctual  as  a  king  !  " 

"You  recognized  his  step?  "  said  Claud  Vignon  to  Made- 
moiselle des  Touches. 

Calyste  bowed  to  the  Marquise,  who  merely  nodded  to  him  j 


BEATRIX.  12S 

he  had  not  looked  at  her.  He  shook  hands  with  Claud  Vis- 
non,  who  offered  him  his  hand. 

"  Here  is  the  great  man  of  whom  you  have  heard  so  much, 
Gennaro  Conti,"  Camille  went  on,  without  answering  Claud 
Vignon. 

She  introduced  to  Calyste  a  man  of  middle  height,  thin  and 
slender,  with  chestnut  hair,  eyes  that  were  almost  orange 
color,  with  a  white,  freckled  skin;  in  short,  so  exactly  the 
well-known  head  of  Lord  Byron  that  it  would  be  superfluous 
to  describe  it — but  perhaps  he  held  it  better.  Conti  was  not 
a  little  proud  of  this  resemblance. 

"  I  am  delighted,  being  but  one  day  at  les  Touches,  to  meet 
monsieur,"  said  Gennaro. 

"It  is  my  part  to  say  as  much  to  you,"  replied  Calyste, 
with  sufficient  ease  of  manner. 

"  He  is  as  handsome  as  an  angel !  "  the  Marquise  said  to 
Fdicite.  Calyste,  standing  between  the  divan  and  the  two 
women,  overheard  the  words,  though  spoken  in  a  whisper. 
He  moved  to  an  armchair,  and  stole  watchful  looks  at  the 
Marquise.  In  the  soft  light  of  the  setting  sun  he  saw  lounging 
on  the  divan,  as  though  a  sculptor  had  placed  her  in  position, 
a  white  sinuous  figure  which  seemed  to  dazzle  his  sight. 
F6licit6,  without  knowing  it,  had  served  her  friend  well  by 
her  description. 

Beatrix  was  superior  to  the  not  too  flattering  portrait  drawn 
by  Camille.  Was  it  not  partly  for  the  stranger's  benefit  that 
Beatrix  had  placed  in  her  splendid  hair  bunches  of  blue  corn- 
flowers, which  showed  off  the  pale  gleam  of  her  ringlets,  ar- 
ranged to  frame  her  face  and  flicker  over  her  cheeks  ?  Her 
eyes  were  set  in  circles  darkened  by  fatigue,  but  only  to  the 
tone  of  the  purest  and  most  opalescent  mother-of-pearl ;  her 
cheeks  were  as  bright  as  her  eyes.  Under  her  white  skin,  as 
delicate  as  the  silky  lining  of  an  egg-shell,  life  flushed  in  the 
purple  blood.  The  finish  of  her  features  was  exquisite ; 
her  brow  seemed  diaphanous.     This  fair  and  gentle  head, 


124  BEATRIX. 

finely  set  on  a  long  neck  of  marvelous  beauty,  lent  itself  to 
the  most  varying  expression. 

Her  waist,  slight  enough  to  span,  had  a  bewitching  grace ; 
her  bare  shoulders  gleamed  in  the  twilight  like  a  white 
camellia  in  black  hair.  The  bosom,  well  supported,  but 
covered  with  a  clear  handkerchief,  showed  two  exquisitely 
enticing  curves.  The  India-muslin  dress,  white  flowered 
with  blue ;  the  wide  sleeves ;  the  bodice,  pointed  and  without 
any  sash ;  the  shoes  with  sandals  crossed  over  fine  thread 
stockings — all  showed  perfect  knowledge  of  the  arts  of  dress. 
Earrings  of  silver  filigree,  marvels  of  Genoese  work  which  no 
doubt  were  coming  into  fashion,  were  admirably  suited  to  the 
exquisite  softness  of  the  fair  hair  starred  with  cornflowers. 

At  a  single  eager  glance  Calyste  took  in  all  this  beauty, 
which  stamped  itself  on  his  soul.  Beatrix,  so  fair,  and 
Felicite,  so  dark,  recalled  the  ** Keepsake"  contrasts,  so 
much  affected  by  English  engravers  and  draughtsmen.  They 
were  woman's  weakness  and  woman's  strength  in  their  utmost 
expression,  a  perfect  antithesis.  These  two  women  could 
never  be  rivals ;  each  had  her  empire.  They  were  like  a 
delicate  pale  periwinkle  or  lily  by  the  side  of  a  sumptuous 
and  gorgeous  red  poppy,  or  a  turquoise  by  a  ruby.  In  an 
instant  Calyste  was  possessed  by  a  passion  which  crowned  the 
secret  working  of  his  hopes,  his  fears,  his  doubts.  Mademoi- 
selle des  Touches  had  roused  his  senses,  Beatrix  fired  his  mind 
and  heart.  The  young  Breton  was  conscious  .of  the  birth 
within  himself  of  an  all-conquering  force  that  would  respect 
nothing.  And  he  shot  at  Conti  a  look  of  envy  and  hatred, 
gloomy,  and  full  of  alarms,  a  look  he  had  never  had  for 
Claud  Vignon. 

Calyste  called  up  all  his  resolution  to  restrain  himself, 
thinking,  nevertheless,  that  the  Turks  were  very  right  to  keep 
their  women  shut  up,  and  that  such  beautiful  creatures  should 
be  forbidden  to  show  themselves  in  their  tempting  witcheries 
to  young  men   aflame  with  love.     This  hot  hurricane  was 


BEATRIX.  126 

lulled  as  soon  as  Beatrix  turned  her  eyes  on  him  and  her 
gentle  voice  made  itself  heard ;  the  poor  boy  already  feared 
her  as  he  feared  God. 

The  dinner-bell  rang. 

"Calyste,  give  your  arm  to  the  Marquise,"  said  Made- 
moiselle des  Touches,  taking  Conti  on  her  right  and  Claud 
on  her  left,  as  she  stood  aside  to  let  the  young  couple  pass. 

Thus  to  go  down  the  old  staircase  of  les  Touches  was  to 
Calyste  like  a  first  battle ;  his  heart  failed  him,  he  found  noth- 
ing to  say,  a  faint  moisture  stood  on  his  brow  and  down  his 
spine.  His  arm  trembled  so  violently  that  at  the  bottom  step 
the  Marquise  said  to  him — 

"What  is  the  matter?" 

"Never,"  said  he  in  a  choked  voice,  "never  in  my  life 
have  I  seen  a  woman  so  beautiful  as  you  are,  excepting  my 
mother;  and  I  cannot  control  my  agitation." 

"Why,  have  you  not  Camille  Maupin  here?" 

"  But  what  a  difference  !  "  said  Calyste  artlessly. 

"  Ha  !  Calyste,"  F6licite  whispered  in  his  ear;  "did  I  not 
tell  you  that  you  would  forget  me  as  though  I  had  never 
existed?  Sit  there,  next  her  on  the  right,  and  Vignon  on 
her  left.  As  for  you,  Gennaro,  I  keep  you  by  me,"  she  added, 
laughing;  "  we  will  keep  an  eye  on  her  flirtations." 

The  accent  in  which  Camille  spoke  struck  Claud,  who 
looked  at  her  with  the  wily  and  apparently  absent  glance, 
which  in  him  showed  that  he  was  observant.  He  never 
once  ceased  watching  Mademoiselle  des  Touches  throughout 
dinner. 

"  Flirtations ! ' '  replied  the  Marquise,  drawing  off"  her  gloves 
and  showing  her  beautiful  hands ;  "  I  have  every  excuse ;  on 
one  side  of  me  I  have  a  poet,"  and  she  turned  to  Claud,  "on 
the  other  poetry." 

Gennaro  bestowed  on  Calyste  a  gaze  full  of  flattery. 

By  candle-light  Beatrix  looked  even  more  beautiful  than 
before.     The  pale  gleam  of  the  wax-lights  cast  a  satin  sheen 


126  BEATRIX. 

on  her  forehead,  set  sparks  in  her  gazelle-like  eyes,  and  fell 
through  her  silky  ringlets,  making  separate  hairs  shine  like 
threads  of  gold.  With  a  graceful  movement  she  threw  ofiF 
her  gauze  scarf,  uncovering  her  shoulders.  Calyste  could  then 
see  the  delicate  nape,  as  white  as  milk,  with  a  deep  hollow 
that  parted  into  two,  curving  off  toward  each  shoulder  with 
a  lovely  and  delusive  symmetry.  The  changes  of  aspect  in 
which  pretty  women  indulge  produce  very  little  effect  in  the 
fashionable  world,  where  every  eye  is  blase,  but  they  commit 
fearful  ravages  in  a  soul  as  fresh  as  was  Calyste's.  This  bust, 
so  unlike  Camille's,  revealed  a  perfectly  different  character  in 
Beatrix.  There  could  be  seen  pride  of  race,  a  tenacity  pecu- 
liar to  the  aristocracy,  and  a  certain  hardness  in  that  double 
muscle  of  the  shoulder,  which  is  perhaps  the  last  surviving 
vestige  of  the  conquerors'  strength. 

Calyste  found  it  very  difficult  to  seem  to  eat ;  he  was  full 
of  nervous  feelings,  which  took  away  his  hunger.  As  in  all 
young  men,  nature  was  in  the  clutches  of  those  throes  which 
precede  first  love,  and  stamp  it  so  deeply  on  the  soul.  At  his 
age  the  ardor  of  the  heart  repressed  by  the  ardor  of  the 
moral  sense  leads  to  an  internal  conflict,  which  accounts  for 
the  long,  respectful  hesitancy,  the  deep  absorption  of  love, 
the  absence  of  all  self-interest — all  the  peculiar  attractions  of 
youths  whose  heart  and  life  are  pure. 

As  he  noted — by  stealth,  so  as  not  to  rouse  Gennaro's 
jealous  suspicions — all  the  details  which  make  the  Marquise 
de  Rochefide  so  supremely  beautiful,  Calyste  was  oppressed 
by  the  majesty  of  the  lady  beloved  ;  he  felt  himself  shrink 
before  the  haughtiness  of  some  of  her  glances,  the  imposing 
aspect  of  her  face,  overflowing  with  aristocratic  self-conscious- 
ness, a  pride  which  women  can  express  by  slight  movements, 
by  airs  of  the  head  and  a  magnificent  slowness  of  gesture, 
which  are  all  less  affected  and  less  studied  than  might  be  sup- 
posed. There  is  a  sentiment  behind  all  these  modes  of  ex- 
pression.     The  ambiguous  position  in  which  Beatrix  found 


BE  A  TRIX.  127 

herself  compelled  her  to  keep  a  watch  over  herself,  to  be  im- 
posing without  being  ridiculous ;  and  women  of  the  highest 
stamp  can  all  achieve  this,  though  it  is  the  rock  on  which 
ordinary  women  are  wrecked. 

Beatrix  could  guess  from  Felicity's  looks  all  the  secret 
adoration  she  inspired  in  her  neighbor,  and  that  it  was  un- 
worthy of  her  to  encourage  it ;  so  from  time  to  time  she 
bestowed  on  him  a  repellent  glance  that  fell  on  him  like  an 
avalanche  of  snow.  The  unfortunate  youth  appealed  to 
Mademoiselle  des  Touches  by  a  gaze  in  which  she  felt  the 
tears  kept  down  in  his  heart  by  superhuman  determination, 
and  Felicite  kindly  asked  him  why  he  ate  nothing.  Calyste 
stuffed  to  order,  and  made  a  feint  of  joining  in  the  conversa- 
tion. The  idea  of  being  tiresome  instead  of  agreeable  was 
unendurable,  and  hammered  at  his  brain.  He  was  all  the 
more  bashful  because  he  saw,  behind  the  Marquise's  chair,  the 
manservant  he  had  met  in  the  morning  on  the  jetty,  who 
would  no  doubt  report  his  curiosity. 

Whether  he  were  contrite  or  happy,  Madame  de  Rochefide 
paid  no  attention  to  him.  Mademoiselle  des  Touches  had 
led  her  to  talk  of  her  journey  in  Italy,  and  she  gave  a  very 
witty  account  of  the  point-blank  fire  of  passion  with  which  a 
little  Russian  diplomat  at  Florence  had  honored  her,  laugh- 
ing at  these  little  young  men  who  fling  themselves  at  a  woman 
as  a  locust  rushes  on  grass.  She  made  Claud  Vignon  and 
Gennaro  laugh,  and  Felicity  also  ;  but  these  darts  of  sarcasm 
went  straight  to  Calyste' s  heart,  who  only  heard  words 
through  the  humming  in  his  ears  and  brain.  The  poor  boy 
made  no  vow,  as  some  obstinate  men  have  done,  to  win  this 
woman  at  any  cost ;  no,  he  was  not  angry,  he  was  miserable. 
When  he  discerned  in  Beatrix  an  intention  to  sacrifice  him  at 
Gennaro's  feet,  he  only  said  to  himself — "  If  only  I  can 
serve  her  in  any  way  !  "  and  allowed  himself  to  be  trampled 
on  with  the  meekness  of  a  lamb. 

"  How  is  it,"  said  Claud  Vignon  to  the  Marquise,  "  that 


128  BEATRIX. 

you,  who  so  much  admire  poetry,  give  it  so  bad  a  reception  ? 

Such  artless  admiration,  so  sweet  in  its  expression,  with  no 
second  thought,  no  reservation,  is  not  that  the  poetry  of  the 
heart  ?  Confess  now  that  it  gives  you  a  sense  of  satisfaction 
and  well-being." 

*'  Certainly,"  she  replied,  "  but  we  should  be  very  unhappy 
and,  above  all,  very  worthless  if  we  yielded  to  every  passion 
we  inspire." 

"If  you  made  no  selection,"  said  Conti,  '*  we  should  not 
be  so  proud  of  being  loved." 

"  When  shall  I  be  chosen  and  distinguished  by  a  woman  ?  " 
Calyste  wondered  to  himself,  restraining  his  agony  of  emotion 
with  difficulty. 

He  reddened  like  a  sufferer  on  whose  wound  a  finger  is 
laid.  Mademoiselle  des  Touches  was  startled  by  the  expres- 
sion she  saw  in  Calyste's  face,  and  tried  to  comfort  him  with 
a  sympathizing  look.  Claud  Vignon  caught  that  look.  From 
that  moment  the  writer's  spirits  rose  and  he  vented  his  gayety 
in  sarcasms  :  he  maintained  that  love  lived  only  in  desire,  that 
most  women  were  mistaken  in  their  love,  that  they  often  loved 
for  reasons  unknown  to  the  men  and  to  themselves,  that  they 
sometimes  wished  to  deceive  themselves,  that  the  noblest  of 
them  were  still  insincere. 

**  Be  content  to  criticise  books,  and  do  not  criticise  our 
feelings,"  said  Camille,  with  an  imperious  flash. 

The  dinner  ceased  to  be  lively.  Claud  Vignon's  satire  had 
made  both  the  women  grave.  Calyste  was  in  acute  torment 
in  spite  of  the  happiness  of  gazing  at  Beatrix.  Conti  tried 
to  read  Madame  de  Rochefide's  eyes  and  guess  her  thoughts. 
When  the  meal  was  ended,  Mademoiselle  des  Touches  took 
Calyste's  arm,  left  the  other  two  men  to  the  Marquise,  and 
allowed  them  to  lead  the  way,  so  as  to  say  to  the  youth — 

"  My  dear  boy,  if  the  Marquise  falls  in  love  with  you,  she 
will  pitch  Conti  out  of  the  window ;  but  you  are  behaving 
in  such  a  way  as  to  tighten  their  bonds.     Even  if  she  were 


BEATRIX.  129 

enchanted  by  your  worship,  could  she  take  any  notice  of  it  ? 
Command  yourself." 

"She  is  so  hard  on  me,  she  will  never  love  me,"  said 
Calyste;  "  and  if  she  does  not  love  me,  I  shall  die." 

"Die?  you!  My  dear  Calyste,  you  are  childish,"  said 
Camille.     "  You  would  not  have  died  for  me,  then? " 

"You  made  yourself  my  friend,"  replied  he. 

After  the  little  chat  that  always  accompanies  the  coffee, 
Vignon  begged  Conti  to  sing.  Mademoiselle  des  Touches 
sat  down  to  the  piano.  Camille  and  Gennaro  sang  Dunque 
il  mio  bene  tu  mia  sarai,  the  final  duet  in  Zingarelli's  "  Romeo 
and  Juliet,"  one  of  the  most  pathetic  pages  of  modern 
music.  The  passage  Di  tanti  palpiti  expresses  love  in  all  its 
passion.  Calyste,  sitting  in  the  armchair  where  he  had  sat 
when  Felicite  had  told  him  the  story  of  the  Marquise,  lis- 
tened devoutly.  Beatrix  and  Vignon  stood  on  each  side  of 
the  piano. 

Conti's  exquisite  voice  blended  perfectly  with  Felicity's. 
They  both  had  frequently  sung  the  piece ;  they  knew  all  its 
resources,  and  agreed  wonderfully  in  bringing  them  out.  It 
was  in  their  hands  what  the  musician  had  intended  to  create, 
a  poem  of  divine  melancholy,  the  swan's  song  of  two  lovers. 
When  the  duet  was  ended  the  hearers  were  all  in  a  state  of 
feeling  that  cannot  find  expression  in  vulgar  applause. 

"  Oh,  Music  is  the  queen  of  the  arts  !  "  exclaimed  the  Mar- 
quise. 

"  Camille  gives  the  first  place  to  youth  and  beauty — the 
queen  of  all  poetry,"  said  Claud  Vignon. 

Mademoiselle  des  Touches  looked  at  Claud,  dissembling  a 
vague  uneasiness.  Beatrix,  not  seeing  Calyste,  looked  round 
to  see  what  effect  the  music  had  on  him,  less  out  of  interest 
in  him  than  for  Conti's  satisfaction.  In  a  recess  she  saw  a 
pale  face  covered  with  tears.  At  the  sight  she  hastily  turned 
away,  as  if  some  acute  pain  had  stung  her,  and  looked  at 
Gennaro. 
9 


taO  BEATRIX. 

It  was  not  merely  that  Music  had  risen  up  before  Calyste, 
had  touched  him  with  her  divine  hand,  had  launched  him  on 
creation  and  stripped  it  of  its  mysteries  to  his  eyes — he  was 
overwhelmed  by  Conti's  genius.  In  spite  of  what  Camille 
Maupin  had  told  him  of  the  man's  character,  he  believed  at 
this  moment  that  the  singer  must  have  a  beautiful  soul,  a  heart 
full  of  love.  How  was  he  to  contend  against  such  an  artist  ? 
How  could  a  woman  ever  cease  to  adore  him?  The  song 
must  pierce  her  soul  like  another  soul. 

The  poor  boy  was  as  much  overcome  by  poetic  feeling  as  by 
despair :  he  saw  himself  as  so  small  a  thing  !  This  ingenuous 
conviction  of  his  own  nothingness  was  to  be  read  in  his  face, 
mingling  with  his  admiration.  He  did  not  observe  Beatrix, 
who,  attracted  to  Calyste  by  the  contagion  of  genuine  feeling, 
pointed  him  out  by  a  glance  to  Mademoiselle  des  Touches. 

"Oh!  such  a  delightful  nature  !"  said  Felicite.  "Conti, 
you  will  never  receive  any  applause  to  compare  with  the 
homage  paid  you  by  this  boy.  Let  us  sing  a  trio.  Come, 
Beatrix,  my  dear." 

When  the  Marquise,  Camille,  and  Conti  had  returned  to 
the  piano,  Calyste  rose  unperceived,  flung  himself  on  a  sofa 
in  the  adjoining  bedroom,  of  which  the  door  was  open,  and 
remained  there  sunk  in  despair. 


PART  II. 

THE  DRAMA. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  you,  my  boy?"  said  Claud 
Vignon,  stealing  quietly  in  after  him  and  taking  his  hand. 
"  You  are  in  love,  you  believe  yourself  scorned ;  but  it  is  not 
so.  In  a  few  days  the  field  will  be  open  to  you,  you  will  be 
supreme  here,  and  be  loved  by  more  than  one  woman ;  in 
fact,  if  you  know  how  to  manage  matters,  you  will  be  a  sultan 
here." 

"  What  are  you  saying?  "  cried  Calyste,  starting  to  his  feet 
and  dragging  Claud  away  into  the  library.  "Who  that  is 
here  loves  me  ?" 

"Camille,"  said  Vignon. 

*  *  Cam  i  1  le  loves  me  ?  "  said  Calyste.     *  *  And  what  of  you  ?  * ' 

"I,"  said  Claud,  "I " 

He  paused.  Then  he  sat  down  and  rested  his  head  against 
a  pillow,  in  the  deepest  melancholy. 

"I  am  weary  of  life,"  he  went  on,  after  a  short  silence, 
"and  I  have  not  the  courage  to  end  it.  I  wish  I  were  mis- 
taken in  what  I  have  told  you  ;  but  within  the  last  few  days 
more  than  one  vivid  gleam  has  flashed  upon  me.  I  did  not 
wander  about  the  rocks  of  le  Croisic  for  my  amusement,  on 
my  soul !  The  bitterness  of  my  tone  when,  on  my  return,  I 
found  you  talking  to  Camille,  had  its  source  in  the  depths  of 
my  wounded  self-respect.  I  will  have  an  explanation  presently 
with  Camille.  Two  minds  so  clear-sighted  as  hers  and  mine 
cannot  deceive  each  other.  Between  two  professional  duelists 
a  fight  is  soon  ended.  So  I  may  at  once  announce  my  de- 
parture. Yes,  I  shall  leave  les  Touches,  to-morrow  perhaps, 
with  Conti. 

"  When  we  are  no  longer  here,  some  strange — perhaps  ter- 

(131) 


132  BEATRIX. 

rible — things  will  certainly  happen,  and  I  shall  be  sorry  not 
to  look  on  at  these  struggles  of  passion,  so  rare  in  France, 
and  so  dramatic  !  You  are  very  young  to  enter  on  so  perilous 
a  fight ;  I  am  interested  in  you.  But  for  the  deep  disgust  I 
feel  for  women,  I  would  stay  to  help  you  to  play  the  game ;  it 
is  difficult ;  you  may  lose  it ;  you  have  two  remarkable  women 
to  deal  with,  and  you  are  already  too  much  in  love  with  one 
to  make  use  of  the  other. 

**  Beatrix  must  surely  have  some  tenacity  in  her  nature,  and 
Camille  has  magnanimity.  You,  perhaps,  like  some  fragile 
and  brittle  thing,  will  be  dashed  between  the  two  rocks,  swept 
away  by  the  torrent  of  passion.     Take  care." 

Calyste's  amazement  on  hearing  these  words  allowed  Claud 
Vignon  to  finish  his  speech  and  leave  the  lad,  who  remained 
in  the  position  of  a  traveler  in  the  Alps  to  whom  his  guide 
has  proved  the  depth  of  an  abyss  by  dropping  in  a  stone. 

He  had  heard  from  Claud  himself  that  Camille  loved  him, 
Calyste,  at  the  moment  when  he  knew  that  his  love  for  Beatrix 
would  end  only  with  his  life.  There  was  something  in  the 
situation  too  much  for  such  a  guileless  young  soul.  Crushed 
by  immense  regret  that  weighed  upon  him  for  the  past,  killed 
by  the  perplexities  of  the  present,  between  Beatrix,  whom  he 
loved,  and  Camille,  whom  he  no  longer  loved,  when  Claud  said 
that  she  loved  him,  the  poor  youth  was  desperate;  he  sat 
undecided,  lost  in  thought.  He  vainly  sought  to  guess  the 
reasons  for  which  Felicite  had  rejected  his  devotion,  to  go  to 
Paris  and  accept  that  of  Claud  Vignon. 

Now  and  again  Madame  de  Rochefide's  voice  came  to  his 
ear,  pure  and  clear,  reviving  the  violent  excitement  from 
which  he  had  fled  in  leaving  the  drawing-room.  Several 
times  he  could  hardly  master  himself  so  far  as  to  restrain  a 
fierce  desire  to  seize  her  and  snatch  her  away.  What  would 
become  of  him  ?  Could  he  ever  come  again  to  les  Touches  ? 
Knowing  that  Camille  loved  him,  how  could  he  here  worship 
Beatrix  ?    He  could  find  no  issue  from  his  difficulties. 


i 


BEATRIX.  133 

Gradually  silence  fell  on  the  house.  Without  heeding  it, 
he  heard  the  shutting  of  doors.  Then  suddenly  he  counted 
the  twelve  strokes  of  midnight  told  by  the  clock  in  the  next 
room,  where  the  voices  of  Camille  and  Claud  now  roused 
him  from  the  numbing  contemplation  of  the  future.  A  light 
shone  there  amid  the  darkness.  Before  he  could  show  him- 
self to  them,  he  heard  these  dreadful  words  spoken  by  Claud 
Vignon. 

"You  came  back  from  Paris  madly  in  love  with  Calyste," 
he  was  saying  to  Felicite.  "  But  you  were  appalled  at  the 
consequences  of  such  a  passion  at  your  age ;  it  would  lead  you 
into  a  gulf,  a  hell — to  suicide  perhaps.  Love  can  exist  only 
in  the  belief  that  it  is  eternal,  and  you  could  foresee,  a  few 
paces  before  you  in  life,  a  terrible  parting — weariness  and  old 
age  putting  a  dreadful  end  to  a  beautiful  poem.  You  remem- 
ber Adolphe,  the  disastrous  termination  of  the  loves  of  Mad- 
ame de  Stael  and  Benjamin  Constant,  who  were,  nevertheless, 
much  better  matched  in  age  than  you  and  Calyste. 

"  So,  then,  you  took  me,  as  men  take  fascines,  to  raise  an 
intrenchment  between  yourself  and  the  enemy.  But  while 
you  tried  to  attach  me  to  les  Touches,  was  it  not  that  you 
might  spend  your  days  in  secret  worship  of  your  divinity? 
But  to  carry  out  such  a  scheme,  at  once  unworthy  and  sub- 
lime, you  should  have  chosen  a  common  man  or  a  man  so 
absorbed  by  lofty  thought  that  he  would  be  easily  deceived. 
You  fancied  that  I  was  simple  and  as  easy  to  cheat  as  a  man 
of  genius.  I  am,  it  would  seem,  no  more  than  a  clever  man  . 
I  saw  through  you.  When  yesterday  I  sang  the  praises  of 
women  of  your  age  and  explained  to  you  why  Calyste  loved 
you,  do  you  suppose  that  I  thought  all  your  ecstatic  looks — 
brilliant,  enchanting — were  meant  for  me?  Had  I  not  al- 
ready read  your  soul  ?  The  eyes,  indeed,  were  fixed  on  mine, 
but  the  heart  throbbed  for  Calyste.  You  have  never  been 
loved,  my  poor  Maupin ;  and  you  never  will  be  now,  after 
denying  yourself  the  beautiful  fruit  which  chance  put  in  your 


134  BEATRIX. 

way  at  the  very  gates  of  woman's  hell,  which  must  close  at 
the  touch  of  the  figure  50." 

"And  why  has  love  always  avoided  me?"  she  asked,  in  a 
broken  voice.     **  You  who  know  everything,  tell  me." 

"  Why,  you  are  unamiable,"  said  he  ;  "  you  will  not  yield 
to  love,  you  want  it  to  yield  to  you.  You  can  perhaps  be  led 
into  the  mischief  and  spirit  of  a  school-boy ;  but  you  have  no 
youth  of  heart ;  your  mind  is  too  deep,  you  never  were  artless, 
and  you  cannot  begin  now.  Your  charm  lies  in  mystery ;  it 
is  abstract,  and  not  practical.  And,  again,  your  power  repels 
very  powerful  natures  ;  they  dread  a  conflict.  Your  strength 
may  attract  young  souls,  which,  like  Calyste's,  love  to  feel 
protected;  but,  in  the  long  run,  it  is  fatiguing.  You  are 
superior,  sublime  !  You  must  accept  the  disadvantages  of 
these  two  qualities ;  they  are  wearisome." 

"What  a  verdict!"  cried  Camille.  "Can  I  never  be  a 
woman ?    Am  I  a  monster?  " 

"  Possibly,"  said  Claud. 

"We  shall  see,"  cried  the  woman,  stung  to  the  quick. 

"  Good-night,  my  dear.  I  leave  to-morrow.  I  owe  you 
no  grudge,  Camille ;  I  think  you  the  greatest  of  women ;  but 
if  I  should  consent  to  play  the  part  any  longer  of  a  screen  or 
a  curtain,"  said  Claud,  with  two  marked  inflexions  of  his 
voice,  "  you  would  despise  me  utterly.  We  can  part  now 
without  grief  or  remorse;  we  have  no  happiness  to  mourn 
for,  no  hopes  to  disappoint. 

"To  you,  as  to  some  infinitely  rare  men  of  genius,  love  is 
not  what  nature  made  it — a  vehement  necessity,  with  acute 
but  transient  delights  attached  to  its  satisfaction,  and  then 
death ;  you  regard  it  as  what  Christianity  has  made  it :  an  ideal 
realm  full  of  noble  sentiments,  of  immense  small  things, 
of  poetry  and  spiritual  sensations,  of  sacrifices,  flowers  of 
morality,  enchanting  harmonies,  placed  far  above  all  vulgar 
grossness,  but  whither  two  beings  joined  to  be  one  angel  are 
carried  up  on  the  wings  of  pleasure.     This  was  what  I  hoped 


BEATRIX.  186 

for ;  I  thought  I  held  one  of  the  keys  which  open  the  door 
that  is  shut  to  so  many  persons,  and  through  which  we  soar 
into  infinitude.  You  were  there  already !  And  so  I  was 
deceived. 

"I  am  going  back  to  misery  in  my  vast  prison,  Paris. 
Such  a  deception  at  the  beginning  of  my  career  would  have 
been  enough  to  make  me  flee  from  woman ;  now,  it  fills  my 
soul  with  such  disenchantment  as  casts  me  for  ever  into  ap- 
palling solitude ;  I  shall  be  destitute  even  of  the  faith  which 
helped  the  holy  fathers  to  people  it  with  sacred  visions. 
This,  my  dear  Camille,  is  what  a  superior  nature  brings  us  to. 
We  may  each  of  us  sing  the  terrible  chant  that  a  poet  has  put 
into  the  mouth  of  Moses  addressing  the  Almighty — 

" '  O  Lord !  Thou  hast  made  ine  powerful  and  alone ! ' " 

At  this  moment  Calyste  came  in. 

"  I  ought  to  let  you  know  that  I  am  here,"  said  he. 

Mademoiselle  des  Touches  looked  absolutely  terrified ;  a 
sudden  color  flushed  her  calm  features  with  a  fiery  red.  All 
through  the  scene  she  was  handsomer  than  she  had  ever  been 
in  her  life. 

"We  thought  you  had  gone,  Calyste,"  said  Claud;  "but 
this  involuntary  indiscretion  on  both  sides  will  have  done  no 
harm ;  perhaps  you  will  feel  more  free  at  les  Touches  now 
that  you  know  Felicite  so  completely.  Her  silence  shows  me 
that  I  was  not  mistaken  as  to  the  part  she  intended  that  I 
should  play.  She  loves  you,  as  I  told  yo«i ;  but  she  loves  you 
for  yourself  and  not  for  herself — a  feeling  which  few  women 
are  fitted  to  conceive  of  or  to  cling  to :  very  few  of  them 
know  the  delights  of  pain  kept  alive  by  desire.  It  is  one  of 
the  grander  passions  reserved  for  men ;  but  she  is  somewhat 
of  a  man,"  he  added,  with  a  smile.  "Your  passion  for 
Beatrix  will  torture  her  and  make  her  happy,  both  at  once." 

Tears  rose  to  Mademoiselle  des  Touches'  eyes;  she  dared 
not    look  either  at  the    merciless   Claud    or   the    ingenuous 


136  BEATRIX. 

Calyste.  She  was  frightened  at  having  been  understood ; 
she  had  not  supposed  that  any  man,  whatever  his  gifts, 
could  divine  such  a  torment  of  refined  feeling,  such  lofty 
heroism  as  hers.  And  Calyste,  seeing  her  so  humiliated  at 
finding  her  magnanimity  betrayed,  sympathized  with  the 
agitation  of  the  woman  he  had  placed  so  high,  and  whom 
he  beheld  so  stricken.  By  an  irresistible  impulse,  he  fell  at 
Camille's  feet  and  kissed  her  hands,  hiding  his  tear-washed 
face  in  them. 

"Claud!"  she  cried,  "do  not  desert  me;  what  will  be- 
come of  me  ?  " 

"What  have  you  to  fear?"  replied  the  critic.  "Calyste 
already  loves  the  Marquise  like  a  madman.  You  can  cer- 
tainly have  no  stronger  barrier  between  him  and  yourself 
than  this  passion  fanned  into  life  by  your  own  act.  It  is 
quite  as  effectual  as  I  could  be.  Yesterday  there  was  danger 
for  you  and  for  him ;  but  to-day  everything  will  give  you 
maternal  joys,"  and  he  gave  her  a  mocking  glance.  "You 
will  be  proud  of  his  triumphs." 

Felicite  looked  at  Calyste,  who,  at  these  words,  raised  his 
head  with  a  hasty  movement.  Claud  Vignon  was  suffi- 
ciently revenged  by  the  pleasure  he  took  in  seeing  their 
confusion. 

"You  pushed  him  toward  Madame  de  Rochefide,"  Vig- 
non went  on;  "he  is  now  under  the  spell.  You  have  dug 
your  own  grave.  If  you  had  but  trusted  yourself  to  me, 
you  would  have  avoided  the  disasters  that  await  you." 

"Disasters!"  cried  Camille  Maupin,  raising  Calyste's 
head  to  the  level  of  her  own,  kissing  his  hair  and  wetting 
it  with  her  tears.  "No,  Calyste.  Forget  all  you  have  just 
heard,  and  count  me  for  nothing  !  " 

She  stood  up  in  front  of  the  two  men,  drawn  to  her  full 
height,  quelling  them  by  the  lightnings  that  flashed  from  her 
eyes  in  which  all  her  soul  shone. 

"While  Claud  was  speaking,"  she  went  on,  "I  saw  all 


BEATRIX.  137 

the  beauty,  the  dignity  of  hopeless  love;  is  it  not  the 
only  sentiment  that  brings  us  near  to  God  ?  Do  not  love 
me,  Calyste;  but  I — I  will  love  you  as  no  other  woman 
can  ever  love  !  " 

It  was  the  wildest  cry  that  ever  a  wounded  eagle  sent 
out  from  his  eyrie.  Claud,  on.  one  knee,  took  her  hand  and 
kissed  it. 

"Now  go,  my  dear  boy,"  said  Mademoiselle  des  Touches 
to  Calyste  ;  "  your  mother  may  be  uneasy." 

Calyste  returned  to  Guerande  at  a  leisurely  pace,  turning 
around  to  see  the  light  which  shone  from  the  windows  of 
Beatrix's  rooms.  He  was  himself  surprised  that  he  felt  so 
little  pity  for  Camille ;  he  was  almost  annoyed  with  her  for 
having  deprived  him  of  fifteen  months  of  happiness.  And 
again,  now  and  then,  he  felt  the  same  thrill  in  himself  that 
Camille  had  just  caused  him,  he  felt  the  tears  she  had  shed 
on  his  hair,  he  suffered  in  her  suffering,  he  fancied  he  could 
hear  the  moans — for,  no  doubt,  she  was  moaning — of  this 
wonderful  woman  for  whom  he  had  so  longed  a  few  days 
since. 

As  he  opened  the  courtyard  gate  at  home,  where  all  was 
silent,  he  saw  through  the  window  his  mother  working  by 
the  primitive  lamp  while  waiting  for  him.  Tears  rose  to  his 
eyes  at  the  sight. 

"What  more  has  happened?"  asked  Fanny,  her  face  ex- 
pressive of  terrible  anxiety.  Calyste's  only  reply  was  to 
clasp  his  mother  in  his  arms  and  kiss  her  cheeks,  her  fore- 
head, her  hair,  with  the  passionate  effusion  which  delights  a 
mother,  infusing  into  her  the  subtle  fires  of  the  life  she 
gave. 

"  It  is  you  that  I  love !  "  said  Calyste  to  his  mother,  blush- 
ing and  almost  shamefaced ;  "  you  who  live  for  me  alone, 
whom  I  would  fain  make  happy." 

"  But  you  are  not  in  your  usual  frame  of  mind,  my  child," 


138  BE  A  TRIX. 

said  the  Baroness,  looking  at  her  son.  "What  has  hap- 
pened ?" 

"  Camille  loves  me,"  said  he ;  "  and  I  no  longer  love 
her." 

The  Baroness  drew  him  toward  her  and  kissed  him  on  the 
forehead,  and  in  the  deep  silence  of  the  gloomy  old  tapes- 
tried room  he  could  hear  the  rapid  beating  of  his  mother's 
heart.  The  Irishwoman  was  jealous  of  Camille,  and  had 
suspected  the  truth.  While  awaiting  her  son  night  after 
night  she  had  studied  that  woman's  passion ;  led  by  the  light 
of  persistent  meditation,  she  had  entered  into  Camille's 
heart ;  and  without  being  able  to  account  for  it,  she  had 
understood  that  in  that  unwedded  soul  there  was  a  sort  of 
motherly  affection.  Calyste's  story  horrified  this  simple  and 
guileless  mother. 

'*  Well,"  said  she,  after  a  pause,  "  love  Madame  de  Roche- 
fide  ;  she  will  cause  me  no  sorrow. ' ' 

Beatrix  was  not  free  ;  she  could  not  upset  any  of  the  plans 
they  had  made  for  Calyste's  happiness,  at  least  so  Fanny 
thought ;  she  saw  in  her  a  sort  of  daughter-in-law  to  love,  and 
not  a  rival  mother  to  contend  with. 

"  But  Beatrix  will  never  love  me  !  "  cried  Calyste. 

"  Perhaps,"  replied  the  Baroness,  with  a  knowing  air. 
"  Did  you  not  say  that  she  is  to  be  alone  to-morrow  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"Well,  my  child,"  said  the  mother,  coloring,  "jealousy 
lurks  in  all  our  hearts,  but  I  did  not  know  that  I  should  ever 
find  it  at  the  bottom  of  my  own,  for  I  did  not  think  that  any 
one  would  try  to  rob  me  of  my  Calyste's  affection  !  "  She 
sighed.  "  I  fancied,"  she  went  on,  "  that  marriage  would  be 
to  you  what  it  was  to  me.  What  lights  you  have  thrown  on 
my  mind  during  these  two  months  !  What  colors  are  reflected 
on  your  very  natural  passion,  my  poor  darling!  Well,  still 
seem  to  love  your  Mademoiselle  des  Touches ;  the  Marquise 
will  be  jealous  of  her  and  will  be  yours." 


BEA  IRIX.  139 

"  Oh,  my  sweet  mother,  Camille  would  never  have  told  me 
that  1  "  cried  Calyste,  taking  his  mother  by  the  waist  and 
kissing  her  on  the  neck. 

"You  make  me  very  wicked,  you  bad  child,"  said  she, 
quite  happy  at  seeing  the  beaming  face  hope  gave  to  her  son, 
who  gaily  went  up  the  winding  stairs. 

Next  morning  Calyste  desired  Gasselin  to  stand  on  the 
road  from  Guerande  to  Saint-Nazaire  and  watch  for  Made- 
moiselle des  Touches'  carriage  \  then,  as  it  went  past,  he  was 
to  count  the  persons  in  it. 

Gasselin  returned  just  as  the  family  had  sat  down  together 
at  breakfast. 

"  What  now  can  have  happened?"  said  Mademoiselle  du 
Guenic  ;  "  Gasselin  is  running  as  if  Guerande  were  burning." 

"  He  must  have  caught  the  rat,"  said  Mariotte,  who  was 
bringing  in  the  coffee,  milk,  and  toast. 

"  He  is  coming  from  the  town  and  not  from  the  garden," 
replied  the  blind  woman. 

"  But  the  rat's  hole  is  behind  the  wall  to  the  front  by  the 
street,"  said  Mariotte. 

"  Monsieur  le  Chevalier,  there  were  five  of  them ;  four 
inside  and  the  coachman." 

"  Two  ladies  on  the  back  seat  ?  "  asked  Calyste. 

"And  two  gentlemen  in  front,"  replied  Gasselin. 

"  Saddle  my  father's  horse,  ride  after  them ;  be  at  Saint- 
Nazaire  by  the  time  the  boat  starts  for  Paimbceuf ;  and  if  the 
two  men  go  on  board,  come  back  and  tell  me  as  fast  as  you 
can  gallop." 

Gasselin  went. 

"Why,  nephew,  you  have  the  very  devil  in  you!"  ex- 
claimed old  Aunt  Zephirine. 

"Let  him  please  himself,  sister,"  cried  the  Baron.  "  He 
was  as  gloomy  as  an  owl,  and  now  he  is  as  merry  as  a  lark." 

"  Perhaps  you  told  him  that  our  dear  Charlotte  was  com- 
ing," said  the  old  lady,  turning  to  her  sister-in-law. 


140  BEATRIX. 

"No,"  replied  the  Baroness, 

"  I  thought  he  might  wish  to  go  to  meet  her,"  said  Made- 
moiselle du  Guenic  slily. 

"  If  Charlotte  is  to  stay  three  months  with  her  aunt  he  has 
time  enough  to  see  her  in,"  replied  the  Baroness. 

"Why,  sister,  what  has  occurred  since  yesterday,"  asked 
the  old  lady.  "You  were  so  delighted  to  think  that  Made- 
moiselle de  Pen-Hoel  was  going  this  morning  to  fetch  her 
niece." 

"Jacqueline  wants  me  to  marry  Charlotte  to  snatch  me  from 
perdition,  aunt,"  said  Calyste,  laughing,  and  giving  his  mother 
a  look  of  intelligence.  "I  was  on  the  mall  this  morning  when 
Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel  was  talking  to  Monsieur  du  Halga ; 
she  did  not  reflect  that  it  would  be  far  worse  perdition  for  me 
to  be  married  at  my  age." 

"It  is  written  above,"  cried  the  old  aunt,  interrupting 
Calyste,  "  that  I  am  to  die  neither  happy  nor  at  peace.  I 
should  have  liked  to  see  our  family  continued,  and  some  of 
our  lands  redeemed — but  nothing  of  the  kind  !  Can  you,  my 
fine  nephew,  put  anything  in  the  scale  to  outweigh  such  duties 
as  these?" 

"Why,"  said  the  Baron,  "can  Mademoiselle  des  Touches 
hinder  Calyste  from  marrying  in  due  course  ?  I  must  go  to 
see  her." 

"  I  can  assure  you,  father,  that  Felicity  will  never  be  an 
obstacle  in  the  way  of  my  marriage." 

"  I  cannot  make  head  or  tail  of  it ! "  said  the  blind  woman, 
who  knew  nothing  of  her  nephew's  sudden  passion  for  the 
Marquise  de  Rochefide. 

The  mother  kept  her  son's  secret ;  in  such  matters  silence 
is  instinctive  in  all  women.  The  old  aunt  sank  into  deep 
meditation,  listening  with  all  her  might,  spying  every  voice, 
every  sound,  to  guess  the  mystery  they  were  evidently  keeping 
from  her. 

Gasselin  soon  returned,  and  told  his  young  master  that  he 


Ji 


"SPARE    THE   HORSES,    MY    BOY THEY    HAVE    TWELVE 

LEAGUES    BEFORE   THEM." 


BE  A  TRIX.  141 

had  not  needed  to  go  so  far  as  Saint-Nazaire  to  learn  that 
Mademoiselle  des  Touches  and  the  lady  would  return  alone  j 
he  had  heard  it  in  town,  from  Bernus  the  carrier,  who  had 
taken  charge  of  the  gentlemen's  baggage. 

"  They  will  come  back  alone ?  "  said  Calyste.  "Bring  out 
my  horse." 

Gasselin  supposed  from  his  young  master's  voice  that  there 
was  something  serious  on  hand ;  he  saddled  both  the  horses, 
loaded  the  pistols  without  saying  anything,  and  dressed  to 
ride  out  with  Calyste.  Calyste  was  so  delighted  to  know  that 
Claud  and  Gennaro  were  gone  that  he  never  thought  of  the 
party  he  would  meet  at  Saint-Nazaire ;  he  thought  only  of  the 
pleasure  of  escorting  the  Marquise.  He  took  his  old  father's 
hands  and  pressed  them  affectionately,  he  kissed  his  mother, 
and  put  his  arm  round  his  old  aunt's  waist. 

"  Well,  at  any  rate  I  like  him  better  thus  than  when  he  is 
sad,"  said  old  Zephirine. 

"Where  are  you  off  to,  chevalier?"  asked  his  father. 

"To  Saint-Nazaire." 

"  The  deuce  you  are  !  And  when  is  the  wedding  to  be?" 
said  the  Baron,  who  thought  he  was  in  a  hurry  to  see  Charlotte 
de  Kergarouet.  "I  should  like  to  be  a  grandfather;  it  is 
high  time." 

When  Gasselin  showed  his  evident  intention  of  riding  out 
with  Calyste,  it  occurred  to  the  young  man  that  he  might 
return  in  Camille's  carriage  with  Beatrix,  leaving  his  horse 
in  Gasselin' s  care,  and  he  clapped  the  man  on  the  shoulder, 
saying — 

"  That  was  well  thought  of." 

"  So  I  should  think,"  replied  Gasselin. 

"Spare  the  horses,  my  boy,"  said  his  father,  coming  out 
on  the  steps  with  Fanny;  "they  have  twelve  leagues  before 
them." 

Calyste  exchanged  looks  full  of  meaning  with  his  mother 
and  was  gone. 


142  BEATRIX. 

"Dearest  treasure!"  said  she,  seeing  him  bend  his  head 
under  the  top  of  the  gate. 

"God  preserve  him!"  replied  the  Baron,  "for  we  shall 
never  make  another." 

This  little  speech,  in  the  rather  coarse  taste  of  a  country 
gentleman,  made  the  Baroness  shiver. 

"  My  nephew  is  not  so  much  in  love  with  Charlotte  as  to  rush 
to  meet  her,"  said  old  mademoiselle  to  Mariotte,  who  was 
clearing  the  table. 

"  Oh,  a  fine  lady  has  come  to  les  Touches,  a  Marquise,  and 
he  is  running  after  her.  Well,  well,  he  is  young!"  said 
Mariotte. 

"Those  women  will  be  the  death  of  him,"  said  Made- 
moiselle du  Gu6nic. 

"That  won't  kill  him,  mademoiselle,  quite  the  contrary," 
replied  Mariotte,  who  seemed  quite  happy  in  Calyste's  hap- 
piness. 

Calyste  was  riding  at  a  pace  that  might  have  killed  his 
horse,  when  Gasselin  very  happily  asked  his  master  whether 
he  wished  to  arrive  before  the  departure  of  the  boat;  this  was 
by  no  means  his  purpose ;  he  had  no  wish  to  be  seen  by  either 
Conti  or  Vignon.  The  young  man  reined  in  his  horse  and 
looked  complacently  at  the  double  furrow  traced  by  the  wheels 
of  the  carriage  on  the  sandy  parts  of  the  road.  He  was  wildly 
gay  merely  at  the  thought  :  "She  passed  this  way;  she  will 
come  back  this  way ;  her  eyes  rested  on  those  woods,  on  these 
trees  !  " 

"  What  a  pretty  road  !  "  said  he  to  Gasselin,  looking  around 
admiringly. 

"Yes,  sir,  Brittany  is  the  finest  country  in  the  world,"  re- 
plied the  servant.  "Are  there  such  flowers  in  the  hedges 
or  green  lanes  that  wind  like  this  one  anywhere  else  to  be 
found?" 

"Nowhere,  Gasselin." 

"  Here  comes  Bernus'  carriage,"  said  Gasselin. 


BEATRIX.  •  143 

"Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel  will  be  in  it  with  her  niece; 
let  us  hide,"  said  Calyste. 

"  Hide  here,  sir  !  are  you  crazy  ?  We  are  in  the  midst  of 
the  sands." 

The  carriage,  which  was  in  fact  crawling  up  a  sandy  hill 
above  Saint-Nazaire,  presently  appeared,  in  all  the  artless 
simplicity  of  rude  Breton  construction.  To  Calyste's  great 
astonishment,  the  conveyance  was  full. 

**  We  have  left  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel  and  her  sister 
and  her  niece  in  a  great  pother,"  said  the  driver  to  Gasselin ; 
**  all  the  places  had  been  taken  by  the  custom-house. " 

**  I  am  done  for  !  "  cried  Calyste. 

The  vehicle  was  in  fact  full  of  custom-house  men,  on  their 
way,  no  doubt,  to  relieve  those  in  charge  at  the  salt-marshes. 

When  Calyste  reached  the  little  esplanade  surrounding  the 
church  of  Saint-Nazaire,  whence  there  is  a  view  of  Paimbceuf 
and  of  the  majestic  estuary  of  the  Loire  where  it  struggles  with 
the  tide,  he  found  Camille  and  the  Marquise  waving  their 
handkerchiefs  to  bid  a  last  farewell  to  the  two  passengers  borne 
away  by  the  steam  packet.  Beatrix  was  quite  bewitching,  her 
face  tenderly  shaded  by  the  reflection  from  a  rice-straw  hat  on 
which  poppies  were  lightly  piled,  tied  by  a  scarlet  ribbon  ;  in 
a  flowered  India-muslin  dress,  one  little  slender  foot  put  for- 
ward in  a  green-gaitered  shoe,  leaning  on  her  slight  parasol- 
stick,  and  waving  her  well-gloved  hand.  Nothing  is  more 
strikingly  effective  than  a  woman  on  a  rock,  like  a  statue  on 
its  pedestal. 

Conti  could  see  Calyste  go  up  to  Camille. 

"  I  thought,"  said  the  youth  to  Mademoiselle  des  Touches, 
**  that  you  two  ladies  would  be  returning  alone." 

"That  was  very  nice  of  you,  Calyste,"  she  replied,  taking 
his  hand.  Beatrix  looked  around,  glanced  at  her  young 
adorer,  and  gave  him  the  most  imperious  flash  at  her  com- 
mand. A  smile  that  the  Marquise  caught  on  Camille's  eloquent 
lips  made  her  feel  the  vulgarity  of  this  impulse  worthy  of  a 


144  BEATRTX. 

mere  bourgeoise.  Madame  de  Rochefide  then  said  with  a 
smile  to  Calyste — 

"And  was  it  not  rather  impertinent  to  suppose  that  I  could 
bore  Camille  on  the  way?" 

**  My  dear,  one  man  for  two  widows  is  not  much  in  the 
way,"  said  Mademoiselle  des  Touches,  taking  Calyste's  arm, 
and  leaving  Beatrix  to  gaze  after  the  boat. 

At  this  instant  Calyste  heard  in  the  street  of  what  must  be 
called  the  port  of  Saint-Nazaire  the  voices  of  Mademoiselle 
de  Pen-Hoel,  Charlotte,  and  Gasselin,  all  three  chattering 
like  magpies.  The  old  maid  was  catechising  Gasselin,  and 
wanted  to  know  what  had  brought  him  and  his  master  to 
Saint-Nazaire  ;  Mademoiselle  des  Touches'  carriage  had  made 
a  commotion. 

Before  the  lad  could  escape,  Charlotte  had  caught  sight  of 
him. 

"There  is  Calyste  !  "  cried  the  girl,  pointing  him  out  to 
her  companions. 

*'  Go  and  offer  them  my  carriage ;  their  woman  can  sit  by 
my  coachman,"  said  Camille,  who  knew  that  Madame  de  Ker- 
garouet  with  her  daughter  and  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel 
had  failed  to  get  places. 

Calyste,  who  could  not  avoid  obeying  Camille,  went  to 
deliver  this  message.  As  soon  as  she  knew  that  she  would 
have  to  ride  with  the  Marquise  de  Rochefide  and  the  famous 
Camille  Maupin,  Madame  de  Kergarouet  ignored  her  elder 
sister's  objections ;  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel  refused  to  avail 
herself  of  what  she  called  the  devil's  chariot.  At  Nantes 
people  lived  in  rather  more  civilized  latitudes  than  at  Gudr- 
ande ;  Camille  was  admired  ;  she  was  regarded  as  the  Muse 
of  Brittany  and  an  honor  to  the  country ;  she  excited  as  much 
curiosity  as  jealousy.  The  absolution  granted  her  in  Paris  by 
the  fashionable  world  was  consecrated  by  Mademoiselle  des 
Touches'  fine  fortune,  and  perhaps  by  her  former  successes  at 


BEATRIX.  145 

Nantes,  which  was  proud  of  having  been  the  birthplace  of 
Camilla  Maupin. 

So  the  Viscountess,  crazy  with  curiosity,  dragged  away  her 
old  sister,  turning  a  deaf  ear  to  her  jeremiads. 

*•  Good-morning,  Calyste,"  said  little  Charlotte. 

**  Good-morning,  Charlotte,"  replied  Calyste,  but  he  did 
not  offer  her  his  arm. 

Both  speechless  with  surprise,  she  at  his  coldness,  he  at  his 
own  cruelty,  they  went  up  the  hollow  ravine  that  is  called  a 
street  at  Saint-Nazaire,  following  the  two  sisters  in  silence. 
In  an  instant  the  girl  of  sixteen  saw  the  castle  in  the  air  which 
her  romantic  hopes  had  built  and  furnished  crumble  into 
ruins.  She  and  Calyste  had  so  constantly  played  together 
during  their  childhood,  they  had  been  so  intimately  connected, 
that  she  imagined  her  future  life  secure.  She  had  hurried  on, 
carried  away  by  heedless  happiness,  like  a  bird  rushing  down 
on  a  field  of  wheat ;  she  was  checked  in  her  flight  without 
being  able  to  imagine  what  the  obstacle  could  be. 

"What  is  the  matter,  Calyste?"  she  asked,  taking  his 
hand. 

"  Nothing,"  he  replied,  withdrawing  his  hand  with  terrible 
haste  as  he  thought  of  his  aunt's  schemes  and  Mademoiselle 
de  Pen-Hoel's. 

Tears  filled  Charlotte's  eyes.  She  looked  at  the  handsome 
youth  without  animosity ;  but  she  was  to  feel  the  first  pangs 
of  jealousy  and  know  the  dreadful  rage  of  rivalry  at  the  sight 
of  the  two  Parisian  beauties,  which  led  her  to  suspect  the 
cause  of  Calyste's  coldness. 

Charlotte  de  Kergarouet  was  of  middle  height ;  she  had 
rustic  rosy  cheeks,  a  round  face  with  wide-awake  black  eyes 
that  affected  intelligence,  a  quantity  of  brown  hair,  a  round 
waist,  flat  back,  and  thin  arms,  and  the  crisp,  decided  tone 
of  speech  adapted  by  country-bred  girls  who  do  not  wish  to 
seem  simpletons.  She  was  the  spoiled  child  of  the  family  in 
consequence  of  her  aunt's  preference  for  her.  At  this  moment 
10 


146  BEATRIX, 

she  was  wearing  the  plaid  tweed  cloak  lined  with  green  silk 
that  she  had  put  on  for  the  passage  in  the  steamboat.  Her 
traveling  gown  of  cheap  stuff,  with  a  chaste,  gathered  body 
and  a  finely  pleated  collar,  would  presently  strike  her  as  being 
hideous  in  comparison  with  the  fresh  morning  dress  worn  by 
Beatrix  and  Camille.  She  would  be  painfully  conscious  of 
stockings  soiled  on  the  rocks  and  the  boats  she  had  jumped 
into,  of  old  leather  shoes,  chosen  especially  that  there  might 
be  nothing  good  to  spoil  on  the  journey,  as  is  the  manner  and 
custom  of  provincial  folk. 

As  to  the  Vicomtesse  de  Kergarouct,  she  was  typically  pro- 
vincial. Tall,  lean,  faded,  full  of  covert  pretentiousness 
which  only  showed  when  it  was  wounded,  a  great  talker,  and 
by  dint  of  talk  picking  up  a  i^^  ideas  as  a  billiard-player 
makes  a  cannon,  which  gave  her  a  reputation  for  brilliancy; 
trying  to  snub  Parisians  by  a  display  of  blunt  country  shrewd- 
ness, and  an  assumption  of  perfect  contentment  constantly 
paraded;  stooping  in  the  hope  of  being  picked  up,  and  furi- 
ous at  being  left  on  her  knees  ;  fishing  for  compliments,  as 
the  English  have  it,  and  not  always  catching  them ;  dressing 
in  a  style  at  once  exaggerated  and  slatternly ;  fancying  that 
a  lack  of  politeness  was  lofty  impertinence,  and  that  she  could 
distress  people  greatly  by  paying  them  no  attention  ;  refusing 
things  she  wished  for  to  have  them  offered  a  second  time  and 
pressed  on  her  beyond  reason  ;  her  head  full  of  extinct  sub- 
jects, and  much  astonished  to  find  herself  behind  the  times; 
finally,  hardly  able  to  abstain  for  one  hour  from  dragging  in 
Nantes,  and  the  small  lions  of  Nantes,  and  the  gossip  of  the 
upper  ten  of  Nantes ;  complaining  of  Nantes,  and  criticising 
Nantes,  and  then  regarding  as  a  personal  affront  the  concur- 
rence extorted  from  the  politeness  of  those  who  rashly  agreed 
with  all  she  said. 

Her  manners,  her  speech,  and  her  ideas  had  to  some  extent 
rubbed  off"  on  her  four  daughters. 

To  meet  Camille   Maupin  and    Madame   de  Rochefide! 


BEATRIX.  147 

Here  was  fame  for  the  future  and  matter  for  a  hundred  con- 
versations !  She  marched  on  the  church  as  if  to  take  it  by 
storm,  flourishing  her  handkerchief,  which  she  unfolded  to 
show  the  corners  ponderously  embroidered  at  home,  and 
trimmed  with  worn-out  lace.  She  had  a  rather  stalwart  gait, 
which  did  not  matter  in  a  woman  of  seven-and-forty. 

"Monsieur  le  Chevalier,"  said  she,  and  she  pointed  to 
Calyste,  who  was  following  sulkily  enough  with  Charlotte, 
**  has  informed  us  of  your  amiable  offer ;  but  my  sister,  my 
daughter,  and  I  fear  we  shall  incommode  you." 

"Not  I,  sister;  I  shall  not  inconvenience  these  ladies," 
said  the  old  maid  sharply.  "  I  can  surely  find  a  horse  in 
Saint-Nazaire  to  carry  me  home." 

Camille  and  Beatrix  exchanged  sidelong  looks,  which  Ca- 
lyste noted,  and  that  glance  was  enough  to  annihilate  every 
memory  of  his  youth,  all  his  belief  in  the  Kergarouet-Pen- 
Hoels,  and  to  wreck  for  ever  the  schemes  laid  by  the  two 
families. 

"  Five  can  sit  quite  easily  in  the  carriage,"  replied  Made- 
moiselle des  Touches,  on  whom  Jacqueline  had  turned  her 
back.  "  Even  if  we  were  horribly  squeezed,  which  is  impos- 
sible, as  you  are  all  so  slight,  I  should  be  amply  compensated 
by  the  pleasure  of  doing  a  service  to  friends  of  Calyste's. 
Your  maid,  madame,  will  find  a  seat ;  and  your  bundles,  if 
you  have  any,  can  be  put  in  the  rumble  j  I  have  no  servant 
with  me." 

The  Viscountess  was  profusely  grateful,  and  blamed  her 
sister  Jacqueline,  who  had  been  in  such  a  hurry  for  her  niece 
that  she  would  not  give  her  time  to  travel  by  land  in  their 
carriage  ;  to  be  sure,  the  post-road  was  not  only  longer,  but 
expensive  ;  she  must  return  immediately  to  Nantes,  where  she 
had  left  three  more  little  kittens  eager  to  have  her  back  again 
— and  she  stroked  her  daughter's  chin.  But  Charlotte  put 
on  a  little  victimized  air  as  she  looked  up  at  her  mother, 
which  made  it  seem  likely  that  the  Viscountess  bored  her  four 


148  BEATRIX. 

daughters  most  consumedly  by  trotting  them  out  as  persist- 
ently as,  in  "Tristram  Shandy,"  Corporal  Trim  puts  his 
cap  on. 

"You  are  a  happy  mother,  and  you  must "  Camille 

began;  but  she  broke  off,  remembering  that  Beatrix  must 
have  deserted  her  boy  to  follow  Conti. 

"  Oh  !  "  said  the  Viscountess,  "  though  it  is  my  misfortune 
to  spend  my  life  in  the  country  and  at  Nantes,  I  have  the 
comfort  of  knowing  that  my  children  adore  me.  Have  you 
any  children  ?  "  she  asked  Camille. 

"I  am  Mademoiselle  des  Touches,"  replied  Camille. 
"Madame  is  the  Marquise  de  Rochefide." 

"  Then  you  are  to  be  pitied  for  not  knowing  the  greatest 
happiness  we  poor  mere  women  can  have.  Is  it  not  so, 
madame?"  said  she  to  the  Marquise,  to  remedy  her  blunder. 
"But  you  have  many  compensations." 

A  hot  tear  welled  up  in  Beatrix's  eyes ;  she  turned  hastily 
away  and  went  to  the  clumsy  parapet  at  the  edge  of  the  rock, 
whither  Calyste  followed  her. 

"Madame,"  said  Camille  in  a  low  voice  to  Madame  de 
Kergarouet,  "do  you  not  know  that  the  Marquise  is  separated 
from  her  husband,  that  she  has  not  seen  her  son  for  two  years, 
and  does  not  know  when  they  may  meet  again?  " 

"Dear!"  cried  Madame  de  Kergarouet!  "Poor  lady  I 
Is  it  a  judicial  separation?" 

"No,  incompatibility,"  said  Camille. 

"I  can  quite  understand  that,"  replied  the  Viscountess 
undaunted. 

Old  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel  had  intrenched  herself  a 
few  yards  off  with  her  dear  Charlotte.  Calyste,  after  assuring 
himself  that  no  one  could  see  them,  took  the  Marquise's  hand 
and  kissed  it,  leaving  a  tear  on  it.  Beatrix  turned  on  him, 
her  eyes  dried  by  anger ;  some  cruel  word  was  on  her  tongue, 
but  she  could  say  nothing  as  she  saw  the  tears  on  the  beautiful 
face  of  the  angelic  youth,  as  deeply  moved  as  she  was. 


BEATRIX.  149 

"Good  heavens,  Calyste !  "  said  Camille  in  a  whisper  as 
he  rejoined  them  with  Madame  de  Rochefide,  "  you  will  have 
that  for  a  mother-in-law,  and  that  little  gaby  for  your  wife." 

"  Because  her  aunt  is  rich,"  added  Calyste  sarcastically. 

The  whole  party  now  moved  toward  the  inn,  and  the  Vis- 
countess thought  it  incumbent  on  her  part  to  make  some 
satirical  remarks  to  Camille  Maupin  on  the  savages  of  Saint- 
Nazaire. 

"  I  love  Brittany,  madame,"  replied  Felicite  gravely.  "I 
was  born  at  Guerande." 

Calyste  could  not  help  admiring  Mademoiselle  des  Touches, 
who,  by  the  tones  of  her  voice,  her  steady  gaze,  and  placid 
manners,  put  him  at  his  ease,  notwithstanding  the  terrible 
confessions  of  the  scene  that  had  taken  place  last  night.  Still, 
she  looked  tired ;  her  features  betrayed  that  she  had  not  slept ; 
they  looked  thickened,  but  the  forehead  suppressed  the  in- 
ternal storm  with  relentless  calm. 

"What  queens  !  "  said  he  to  Charlotte,  pointing  to  Beatrix 
and  Camille,  as  he  gave  the  girl  his  arm,  to  Mademoiselle  de 
Pen-Hoel's  great  satisfaction. 

"What  notion  was  this  of  your  mother's,"  said  the  old 
lady,  also  giving  a  lean  arm  to  her  niece,  "  to  throw  us  into 
the  company  of  this  wretched  woman  ?  " 

"  Oh,  aunt !  a  woman  who  is  the  glory  of  Brittany." 

"  The  disgrace,  child  !  Do  not  let  me  see  you  too  cringing 
to  her." 

"Mademoiselle  Charlotte  is  right,"  said  Calyste;  "you 
are  unjust." 

"  Oh,  she  has  bewitched  you  !  "  retorted  Mademoiselle  de 
Pen-Hoel. 

"  I  have  the  same  friendship  for  her  that  I  have  for  you," 
said  Calyste. 

"  How  long  have  the  du  Gu6nics  taken  to  lying?  "  said  the 
old  woman. 

"  Since  the  Pen-Hoels  took  to  being  deaf,"  retorted  Calyste. 


150  BEATRIX. 

"Then  you  are  not  in  love  with  her?"  asked  the  aunt, 
delighted. 

"  I  was,  but  I  am  no  longer,"  he  replied. 

**  Bad  boy  !  Then  why  have  you  given  us  so  much  anxiety? 
I  knew  that  love  was  but  a  folly ;  only  marriage  is  to  be  relied 
on,"  said  she,  looking  at  Charlotte. 

Charlotte,  somewhat  reassured,  hoped  to  reconquer  her 
advantages  by  an  appeal  to  the  memories  of  their  childhood, 
and  clung  to  Calyste's  arm ;  but  he  vowed  to  himself  that  he 
would  come  to  a  clear  and  candid  understanding  with  the  lit- 
tle heiress. 

"  Oh,  what  famous  games  of  mouche  we  will  have,  Calyste," 
said  she,  "and  what  capital  fun  !  " 

The  horses  were  put  in  ;  Camille  made  the  Viscountess  and 
Charlotte  take  the  best  seats,  for  Jacqueline  had  disappeared ; 
then  she  and  the  Marquise  sat  with  their  back  to  the  horses. 
Calyste,  forced  to  give  up  the  pleasure  he  had  promised  him- 
self, rode  at  the  side  of  the  carriage ;  and  the  horses,  all  tired, 
went  slowly  enough  to  allow  of  his  gazing  at  Beatrix. 

History  has  kept  no  record  of  the  singular  conversation  of 
these  four  persons,  so  strangely  thrown  together  by  chance  in 
this  carriage ;  for  it  is  impossible  to  accept  the  hundred  and 
something  versions  which  were  current  at  Nantes  as  to  the 
stories,  the  repartees,  and  the  witticisms  which  Madame  de 
Kergarouet  heard  from  Camille  Maupin  himself.  She  took 
good  care  not  to  repeat,  nor  even  understand,  the  replies 
made  by  Mademoiselle  des  Touches  to  all  her  ridiculous 
inquiries — such  as  writers  so  often  hear,  and  by  which  they 
are  made  to  pay  dearly  for  their  few  joys. 

"How  do  you  write  your  books?"  asked  Madame  de 
Kergarouet. 

"Why,  just  as  you  do  your  needlework,"  said  Camille, 
"your  netting,  or  cross-stitch." 

"  And  where  did  you  find  all  those  deep  observations  and 
attractive  pictures  ? ' ' 


BEATRIX.  151 

"  Where  you  find  all  the  clever  things  you  say,  madame. 
Nothing  is  easier  than  writing,  and  if  you  chose " 

"Ah,  it  all  lies  in  the  choosing?  I  should  never  have 
thought  it !  And  which  of  your  works  do  you  yourself 
prefer  ? ' ' 

**  It  is  difficult  to  have  any  preference  for  these  little 
kittens." 

"You  are  surfeited  with  compliments;  it  is  impossible  to 
say  anything  new." 

"  Believe  me,  madame,  I  appreciate  the  form  you  give  to 
yours." 

The  Viscountess,  anxious  not  to  seem  neglectful  of  the 
Marquise,  said,  looking  archly  at  her — 

"  I  shall  never  forget  this  drive,  sitting  between  wit  and 
beauty." 

The  Marquise  laughed. 

"  You  flatter  me,  madame,"  said  she.  **  It  is  not  in  nature 
that  wit  should  be  noticed  in  the  company  of  genius,  and  I 
have  not  yet  said  much." 

Charlotte,  keenly  alive  to  her  mother's  absurdity,  looked 
at  her,  hoping  to  check  her;  but  the  Viscountess  still  valiantly 
showed  fight  against  the  two  laughing  Parisian  ladies. 
Calyste,  trotting  at  an  easy  pace  by  the  carriage,  could  only 
see  the  two  women  on  the  back  seat,  and  his  eyes  fell  on  them 
alternately,  betraying  a  very  melancholy  mood.  Beatrix, 
who  could  not  help  being  seen,  persistently  avoided  looking 
at  the  youth ;  with  a  placidity  that  is  maddening  to  a  lover, 
she  sat  with  her  hands  folded  over  her  crossed  shawl,  and 
seemed  lost  in  deep  meditation. 

At  a  spot  where  the  road  is  shaded  and  as  moist  and  green 
as  a  cool  forest  path,  where  the  wheels  of  the  carriage  were 
scarcely  audible,  and  the  wind  brought  a  resinous  scent, 
Camille  remarked  on  the  beauty  of  the  place,  and,  leaning 
her  hand  on  Beatrix's  knee,  she  pointed  to  Calyste  and 
said — 


152  BEATRIX. 

**  How  well  he  rides !  " 

"  Calyste  ? ' '  said  Madame  de  Kergarouet.  "  He  is  a  capital 
horseman." 

**  Oh,  Cal)rste  is  so  nice  !  "  said  Charlotte. 

**  There  are  so  many  Englishmen  just  like  him "  replied 

the  Marquise  indifferently,  without  finishing  her  sentence. 

"His  mother  is  Irish — an  O'Brien,"  said  Charlotte,  feeling 
personally  attacked. 

Camille  and  the  Marquise  drove  into  Gu6rande  with  the 
Vicomtesse  de  Kergarouet  and  her  daughter,  to  the  great  as- 
tonishment of  the  gaping  townspeople ;  they  left  their  travel- 
ing companions  at  the  corner  of  the  little  Rue  du  Gu^nic, 
where  there  was  something  very  like  a  crowd.  Calyste  had 
ridden  on  to  announce  to  his  mother  the  arrival  of  the  party, 
who  were  expected  to  dinner.  The  meal  had  been  politely 
put  off  till  four  o'clock. 

The  chevalier  went  back  to  give  the  ladies  his  arm ;  he 
kissed  Camille' s  hand,  hoping  to  touch  that  of  the  Marquise, 
but  she  firmly  kept  her  arms  folded,  and  he  besought  her  in 
vain  with  eyes  sparkling  through  wasted  tears. 

"You  little  goose  !  "  said  Camille  in  his  ear,  with  a  light, 
friendly  kiss  on  it. 

"True  enough!"  said  Calyste  to  himself  as  the  carriage 
turned.  "  I  forget  my  mother's  counsels — but  I  believe  I 
always  shall  forget  them." 

Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel,  who  arrived  valiantly  mounted 
on  a  hired  nag,  Madame  de  Kergarouet,  and  Charlotte  found 
the  table  laid,  and  were  cordially,  if  not  luxuriously,  received 
by  the  du  Gunnies.  Old  Zephirine  had  sent  for  certain  bot- 
tles of  fine  wine  from  the  depths  of  the  cellar,  and  Mariotte 
had  surpassed  herself  in  Breton  dishes.  The  Viscountess,  de- 
lighted to  have  traveled  with  the  famous  Camille  Maupin,  tried 
to  expatiate  on  modern  literature  and  the  place  held  in  it  by 
Camille ;  but  as  it  had  been  with  the  game  of  whist,  so  it  was 
with  literary  matters ;  neither  the  du  Gunnies,  nor  the  curd, 


BEATRIX.  163 

who  looked  in,  nor  the  Chevalier  du  Halga  understood  any- 
thing about  them.  The  abbe  and  the  old  naval  officer  sipped 
the  liqueurs  at  dessert. 

As  soon  as  Mariotte,  helped  by  Gasselin  and  by  Madame 
de  Kergarouet's  maid,  had  cleared  the  table,  there  was  an  en- 
thusiastic clamor  for  mouche.  Joy  prevailed.  Everybody 
believed  Calyste  to  be  free,  and  saw  him  married  ere  long  to 
little  Charlotte.  Calyste  sat  silent.  For  the  first  time  in  his 
life  he  was  making  comparisons  between  the  Kergarouets  and 
the  two  elegant  and  clever  women,  full  of  taste,  who,  at  this 
very  moment,  were  probably  laughing  at  the  two  provincials, 
if  he  might  judge  from  the  first  glances  they  had  exchanged. 
Fanny,  knowing  Calyste's  secret,  noticed  his  dejection.  Char- 
lotte's coquetting  and  her  mother's  attacks  had  no  effect  on 
him.  Her  dear  boy  was  evidently  bored  ;  his  body  was  in  this 
room,  where  of  yore  he  could  have  been  amused  by  the  ab- 
surdities of  mouche,  but  his  spirit  was  wandering  round  les 
Touches. 

"How  can  I  send  him  off  to  Camille's?"  thought  the 
mother,  who  loved  him,  and  who  was  bored  because  he  was 
bored.     Her  affection  lent  her  inventiveness. 

"  You  are  dying  to  be  off  to  les  Touches  to  see  her?^^  she 
whispered  to  Calyste. 

The  boy's  answer  was  a  smile  and  a  blush  that  thrilled  this 
devoted  mother  to  her  heart's  very  core. 

"  Madame,"  said  she  to  the  Viscountess,  "you  will  be  very 
uncomfortable  to-morrow  in  the  carrier's  chaise,  and  obliged 
to  start  very  early  in  the  morning.  Would  it  not  be  better 
if  you  were  to  have  Mademoiselle  des  Touches'  carriage  ?  Go 
over,  Calyste,"  said  she,  turning  to  her  son,  "and  arrange 
the  matter  at  les  Touches;  but  come  back  quickly." 

"It  will  not  take  ten  minutes,"  cried  Calyste,  giving  his 
mother  a  wild  hug  out  on  the  steps,  whither  she  followed  him. 

Calyste  flew  with  the  speed  of  a  fawn,  and  was  in  the  en- 
trance hall  of  les  Touches  just  as  Camille  and  Beatrix  came 


154  BE  A  TRIX. 

out  of  the  dining-room  after  dinner.  He  had  the  wit  to  offer 
his  arm  to  Fdlicite. 

"  You  have  deserted  the  Viscountess  and  her  daughter  for 
us,"  said  she,  pressing  his  arm.  *'  We  are  able  to  appreciate 
the  extent  of  the  sacrifice." 

"Are  these  Kergarouets  related  to  the  Portendueres  and  old 
Admiral  de  Kergarouet,  whose  widow  married  Charles  de  Van- 
denesse?"  Madame  de  Rochefide  asked  Camille. 

"Mademoiselle  Charlotte  is  the  admiral's  grand-niece," 
replied  Camille. 

"She  is  a  charming  young  person,"  said  Beatrix,  seating 
herself  in  a  Gothic  armchair;  "  the  very  thing  for  Monsieur 
du  Guenic." 

"That  marriage  shall  never  be!"  cried  Camille  vehe- 
mently. 

Calyste,  overwhelmed  by  the  cold  indifference  of  the  Mar- 
quise, who  spoke  of  the  little  country  girl  as  the  only  creature 
for  whom  he,  the  country  chevalier,  was  a  match,  sat  speech- 
less and  bewildered. 

"And  why  not,  Camille?  "  said  Madame  de  Rochefide. 

"My  dear,"  said  Camille,  seeing  Calyste's  despair,  "  I  did 
not  advise  Conti  to  get  married,  and  I  believe  I  was  delightful 
to  him— ^you  are  ungenerous." 

Beatrix  looked  at  her  with  surprise  mingled  with  indefinable 
suspicions.  Calyste  almost  understood  Camille's  self-immo- 
lation as  he  saw  the  pale  flush  rise  in  her  cheeks,  which,  in 
her,  betrayed  the  most  violent  emotions ;  he  went  up  to  her 
awkwardly  enough,  took  her  hand,  and  kissed  it.  Camille 
sat  down  to  the  piano  with  an  easy  air,  as  if  equally 
sure  of  her  friend  and  of  the  lover  she  had  claimed,  turn- 
ing her  back  upon  them,  and  leaving  them  to  each  other. 
She  improvised  some  variations  on  airs,  unconsciously  sug- 
gested by  her  thoughts,  for  they  were  all  deeply  sad.  The 
Marquise  appeared  to  be  listening ;  but  she  was  watching 
Calyste,  who  was  too  young  and  too  guileless  to  play  the  part 


BEATRIX.  156 

suggested  to  him  by  Camille,  and  sat  lost  in  ecstasy  before  his 
real  idol.  At  the  end  of  an  hour,  during  which  Mademoiselle 
des  Touches  gave  herself  up  to  her  jealous  feelings,  Beatrix 
went  to  her  room. 

Camille  at  once  led  Calyste  into  her  own  room,  so  as  not 
to  be  overheard,  for  women  have  an  admirable  sense  of  dis- 
trust. 

"My  child,"  said  she,  "you  must  pretend  to  love  me  or 
you  are  lost ;  you  are  a  perfect  child ;  you  know  nothing  about 
women,  you  know  only  how  to  love.  To  love  and  to  be 
loved  are  two  very  different  things.  You  are  rushing  into  ter- 
rible suffering.  I  want  you  to  be  happy.  If  you  provoke 
Beatrix,  not  in  her  pride,  but  in  her  obstinacy,  she  is  capable 
of  flying  off  to  join  Conti  at  a  few  leagues  from  Paris.  Then 
what  would  become  of  you?  " 

"  I  should  love  her,"  replied  Calyste. 

"You  would  not  see  her  again." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  should,"  said  he. 

"Pray,  how?" 

"I  should  follow  her." 

"  But  you  are  as  poor  as  Job,  my  dear  child." 

"  My  father,  Gasselin,  and  I  lived  in  la  Vendue  for  three 
months  on  a  hundred  and  fifty  francs,  marching  day  and 
night." 

"  Calyste,"  said  F6licit6,  "  listen  to  me.  I  see  you  are  too 
honest  to  act  a  part ;  I  do  not  wish  to  corrupt  so  pure  a  nature 
as  yours.  I  will  take  it  all  on  myself.  Beatrix  shall  love 
you." 

"Is  it  possible?"  he  cried,  clasping  his  hands. 

"Yes,"  said  Camille.  "  But  we  must  undo  the  vows  she 
had  made  to  herself.  I  will  lie  for  you.  Only  do  not  inter- 
fere in  any  way  with  the  arduous  task  I  am  about  to  undertake. 
The  Marquise  has  much  aristocratic  cunning ;  she  is  intellec- 
tually suspicious ;  no  hunter  ever  had  to  take  more  difficult 
game  \  so  in  this  case,  my  poor  boy,  the  sportsman  must  take 


156  BE  A  TRIX. 

his  dog's  advice.  Will  you  promise  to  obey  me  blindly  ?  I 
will  be  your  Fox,"  said  she,  naming  Calyste's  best  hound. 

**  What  then  am  I  to  do?"  replied  the  young  man. 

**  Very  little,"  said  Camille.  •*  Come  here  every  day  at 
noon.  I,  like  an  impatient  mistress,  shall  always  be  at  the 
window  of  the  corridor  that  looks  out  on  the  Gu^rande  road 
to  see  you  coming.  I  shall  fly  to  my  room  so  as  not  to  be 
seen — not  to  let  you  know  the  depth  of  a  passion  that  is  a 
burden  on  you ;  but  sometimes  you  will  see  me  and  wave 
your  handkerchief  to  me.  Then  in  the  courtyard,  and  as 
you  come  upstairs,  you  must  put  on  a  look  of  some  annoy- 
ance. That  will  be  no  dissimulation,  my  child,"  said  she, 
leaning  her  head  on  his  breast,  **  will  it  ?  Do  not  hurry  up ; 
look  out  of  the  staircase  window  on  to  the  garden  to  look  for 
Beatrix.  When  she  is  there — and  she  will  be  there,  never 
fear — if  she  sees  you,  come  straight,  but  very  slowly,  to  the 
little  drawing-room,  and  thence  to  my  room.  If  you  should 
see  me  at  the  window  spying  your  treachery,  you  must  start 
back  that  I  may  not  catch  you  imploring  a  glance  from 
Beatrix.  Once  in  my  room  you  will  be  my  prisoner.  Yes ; 
we  will  sit  there  till  four  o'clock.  You  may  spend  the  time 
in  reading;  I  will  smoke.  You  will  be  horribly  bored  by 
not  seeing  her,  but  I  will  provide  you  with  interesting  books. 
You  have  read  nothing  of  George  Sand's ;  I  will  send  a  man 
to-night  to  buy  her  works  at  Nantes,  and  those  of  some  other 
writers  that  are  unknown  to  you. 

"  I  shall  be  the  first  to  leave  the  room;  you  must  not  put 
down  your  book  or  come  into  the  little  drawing-room  till 
you  hear  Beatrix  in  there  talking  to  me.  Whenever  you  see  a 
music-book  open  on  the  piano,  you  can  ask  if  you  may  stay. 
You  may  be  positively  rude  to  me  if  you  can ;  I  give  you 
leave  ;  all  will  be  well." 

"I  know,  Camille,"  said  he,  with  delightful  good  faith, 
**  that  you  have  the  rarest  affection  for  me  ;  it  makes  me  quite 
sorry  that  I  ever  saw  Beatrix ;  but  what  do  you  hope  for  ?  " 


BEATRIX.  157 

**In  a  week  Beatrix  will  be  crazy  about  you." 

"  Good  God !  "  cried  he,  "  is  that  possible?  "  and,  clasp- 
ing his  hands,  he  fell  on  his  knees  before  Camille,  who  was 
touched  and  happy  to  give  him  such  joy  at  her  own  cost. 

"Listen  to  me,"  said  she.  *' If  you  speak  to  the  Mar- 
quise— not  merely  in  the  way  of  conversation,  but  if  you 
exchange  even  a  few  words  with  her — if  you  allow  her  to 
question  you,  if  you  fail  in  the  wordless  part  I  set  you  to 
play,  and  which  is  certainly  easy  enough,  understand  clearly," 
and  she  spoke  in  a  serious  tone,  "  you  will  lose  her  for  ever," 

"I  do  not  understand  anything  of  all  this,  Camille,"  cried 
Calyste,  looking  at  her  with  adorable  guilelessness. 

"  If  you  understood,  you  would  not  be  the  exquisite  child 
that  you  are,  the  noble,  handsome  Calyste,"  said  she,  taking 
his  hand  and  kissing  it. 

And  Calyste  did  what  he  had  never  done  before ;  he  put 
his  arm  round  Camille  and  kissed  her  gently  on  the  neck, 
without  passion,  but  tenderly,  as  he  kissed  his  mother.  Made- 
moiselle des  Touches  could  not  restrain  a  burst  of  tears. 

*' Now  go,  child,"  said  she,  "and  tell  your  Viscountess 
that  my  carriage  is  at  her  orders." 

Calyste  wanted  to  stay,  but  he  was  obliged  to  obey  Ca- 
mille's  imperious  and  imperative  gesture.  He  went  home  in 
high  spirits,  for  he  was  sure  of  being  loved  within  a  week 
by  the  beautiful  Rochefide. 

The  mouche  players  found  in  him  the  Calyste  they  had  lost 
these  two  months.  Charlotte  ascribed  the  change  to  her 
own  presence.  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel  was  affectionately 
teasing.  The  Abbe  Grimont  tried  to  read  in  the  Baroness' 
eyes  the  reason  for  the  calm  he  saw  there.  The  Chevalier  du 
Halga  rubbed  his  hands. 

The  two  old  maids  were  as  lively  as  a  couple  of  lizards. 
The  Viscountess  owed  five  francs'  worth  of  accumulated  fines. 
Zephirine's  avarice  was  so  keenly  excited  that  she  lamented 
her  inability  to  see  the  cards,  and  was  sharply  severe  on  her 


168  BEATRIX. 

sister-in-law,  who  was  distracted  from  the  game  by  Calyste's 
good  spirits,  and  who  asked  him  a  question  now  and  then 
without  understanding  his  replies. 

The  game  went  on  until  eleven  o'clock.  Two  players  had 
retired ;  the  Baron  and  du  Halga  were  asleep  in  their  arm- 
chairs. Mariotte  had  made  some  buckwheat  cakes ;  the 
Baroness  brought  out  her  tea-caddy ;  and  before  the  Kerga- 
rouets  left,  the  noble  house  of  du  Guenic  offered  its  guests 
a  collation,  with  fresh  butter,  fruit,  and  cream,  for  which  the 
silver  teapot  was  brought  out,  and  the  English  China  tea- 
service  sent  to  the  Baroness  by  one  of  her  aunts.  This  air  of 
modern  splendor  in  that  antique  room,  the  Baroness'  exquisite 
grace,  accustomed  as  a  good  Irishwoman  to  make  and  pour 
out  tea,  a  great  business  with  Englishwomen,  were  really  de- 
lightful. The  greatest  luxury  would  not  have  given  such  a 
simple,  unpretending,  and  dignified  effect  as  this  impulse  of 
glad  hospitality. 

When  there  was  no  one  left  in  the  room  but  the  Baroness 
and  her  son,  she  looked  inquiringly  at  Calyste. 

"What  happened  this  evening  at  les  Touches?"  she 
asked. 

Calyste  told  her  of  the  hope  Camille  had  put  into  his  heart 
and  of  her  strange  instructions. 

"  Poor  woman  !  "  exclaimed  Fanny,  clasping  her  hands, 
and  for  the  first  time  pitying  Mademoiselle  des  Touches. 

Some  minutes  after  Calyste  had  left,  Beatrix,  who  had 
heard  him  leave  the  house,  came  into  her  friend's  room,  and 
found  her  sunk  on  a  sofa,  her  eyes  wet  with  tears. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Felicite?"  asked  the  Marquise,  with 
concern. 

"  That  I  am  forty  and  in  love,  ray  dear  !  "  said  Mademoi- 
selle des  Touches,  in  a  tone  of  terrible  fury,  her  eyes  suddenly 
dry  and  hard.  "  If  only  you  could  know,  Beatrix,  how  many 
tears  I  shed  daily  over  the  lost  days  of  my  youth !     To  be 


BEATRIX.  169 

loved  out  of  pity,  to  know  that  one's  pittance  of  happiness 
is  earned  by  painful  toil,  by  catlike  tricks,  by  snares  laid  for 
the  innocence  and  virtue  of  a  mere  boy — is  not  that  shameful  ? 
Happily,  we  find  a  sort  of  absolution  in  the  infinitude  of  pas- 
sion, in  the  energy  of  happiness,  in  the  certainty  of  being  for 
ever  supreme  above  other  women  in  a  young  heart,  on  which 
our  name  is  graven  by  unforgettable  pleasure  and  insane  self- 
sacrifice.  Yes,  if  he  asked  it  of  me,  I  would  throw  myself 
into  the  sea  at  his  least  signal.  Sometimes  I  catch  myself 
wishing  that  he  would  desire  it ;  it  would  be  a  sacrifice,  and 
not  suicide. 

"  Oh  !  Beatrix,  in  coming  here  you  set  me  a  cruel  task  !  I 
know  how  difficult  it  is  to  triumph  against  you ;  but  you  love 
Conti,  you  are  noble  and  generous,  and  you  will  not  deceive 
me  ;  on  the  contrary,  you  will  help  me  to  preserve  my  Calyste. 
I  was  prepared  for  the  impression  you  would  make  on  him, 
but  I  have  not  been  so  foolish  as  to  seem  jealous ;  that  would 
but  add  fuel  to  the  fire.  On  the  contrary,  I  announced  your 
arrival,  depicting  you  in  such  bright  colors  that  you  could 
never  come  up  to  the  portrait,  and  unluckily  you  are  hand- 
somer than  ever." 

This  vehement  lament,  in  which  truth  and  untruth  were 
mingled,  completely  deceived  Madame  de  Rochefide.  Claud 
Vignon  had  told  Conti  his  reasons  for  leaving ;  Beatrix  was, 
of  course,  informed,  so  she  showed  magnanimity  by  behaving 
coldly  to  Calyste  ;  but  at  this  instant  there  awoke  in  her  that 
thrill  of  joy  which  every  woman  feels  at  the  bottom  of  her 
heart  on  hearing  that  she  is  loved.  The  love  she  inspires  in 
any  man  implies  an  unfeigned  flattery  which  it  is  impossible 
not  to  appreciate;  but  when  the  man  belongs  to  another 
woman,  his  homage  gives  more  than  joy,  it  is  heavenly  bliss. 
Beatrix  sat  down  by  her  friend,  and  was  full  of  little  coaxing 
ways. 

"  You  have  not  a  white  hair,"  said  she ;  "  you  have  not  a 
wrinkle ;  your  temples  are  smooth  still,  while  I  know  many  a 


160  BEATRIX. 

woman  of  thirty  obliged  to  cover  hers.  Look,  my  dear," 
she  added,  raising  her  curls,  "what  my  journey  cost  me." 

She  showed  the  faintest  pucker  that  ruffled  the  surface  of 
her  exquisite  skin  ;  she  turned  up  her  sleeve  and  displayed 
the  same  wrinkles  on  her  wrists,  where  the  transparent  texture 
already  showed  lines,  and  a  network  of  swollen  veins,  and 
three  deep  marks  made  a  bracelet  of  furrows. 

"Are  not  these  the  two  spots  which  can  tell  no  lies,  as  a 
writer,  investigating  our  miseries,  has  said?  We  must  suffer 
much  before  we  see  the  truth  of  his  terrible  shrewdness ;  but, 
happily  for  us,  most  men  know  nothing  about  it,  and  do  not 
read  that  atrocious  writer." 

"  Your  letter  told  me  all,"  replied  Camille.  "  Happiness 
is  not  fatuous ;  you  boasted  too  much  of  yours.  In  love, 
truth  is  deaf,  dumb,  and  blind.  And  I,  knowing  you  had 
reasons  for  throwing  over  Conti,  dreaded  your  visit  here. 
My  dear,  Calyste  is  an  angel ;  he  is  as  good  as  he  is  hand- 
some ;  the  poor  innocent  will  not  resist  one  look  from  you, 
he  admires  you  too  much  not  to  love  on  the  smallest  encour- 
agement ;  your  disdain  will  preserve  him  to  me.  I  confess  it 
with  the  cowardice  of  true  passion :  if  you  take  him  from  me, 
you  kill  me.  'Adolphe,'  that  terrible  book  by  Benjamin 
Constant,  has  told  us  of  Adolphe's  sufferings ;  but  what  of  the 
woman's,  heh?  He  did  not  study  them  enough  to  depict 
them,  and  what  woman  would  dare  reveal  them  ?  They  would 
discredit  our  sex,  humiliate  our  virtues,  add  to  our  vices. 
Ah !  if  I  may  measure  them  by  my  fears,  these  tortures  are 
like  the  torments  of  hell.  But  if  he  deserts  me,  my  deter- 
mination is  fixed." 

"  And  what  have  you  determined  ?  "  asked  Beatrix,  with  an 
eagerness  that  was  a  shock  to  Camille. 

On  this  the  two  friends  looked  at  each  other  with  the  keen- 
ness of  two  Venetian  inquisitors  of  State,  a  swift  glance,  in 
which  their  souls  met  and  struck  fire  like  two  flints.  The 
Marquise's  eyes  fell. 


BEATRIX.  161 

"Beside  man  there  is  only  God  !  "  said  the  famous  woman 
gravely.  *'  God  is  the  unknown.  I  should  cast  myself  into 
it  as  into  a  gulf.  Calyste  has  just  sworn  that  he  admires  you 
only  as  he  might  admire  a  picture  \  but  you  are  eight-and- 
twenty,  and  in  all  the  splendor  of  your  beauty.  So  the 
struggle  between  him  and  me  has  begun  by  a  falsehood. 
Happily  I  know  how  to  win." 

"And  how  is  that?" 

"That,  my  dear,  is  my  secret.  Leave  me  the  advantages 
of  my  age.  Though  Claud  Vignon  has  cast  me  into  the  abyss 
— me,  when  I  had  raised  myself  to  a  spot  which  I  believed  to 
be  inaccessible — I  may  at  least  pluck  the  pale  blossoms,  etio- 
lated but  delicious,  which  grow  at  the  foot  of  the  precipice." 

Madame  de  Rochefide  was  moulded  like  wax  by  Mademoi- 
selle des  Touches,  who  reveled  in  savage  pleasure  as  she  in- 
volved her  in  her  meshes.  Camille  sent  her  to  bed,  nettled 
with  curiosity,  tossed  between  jealousy  and  generosity,  but 
certainly  thinking  much  about  the  handsome  youth. 

"She  would  be  delighted  if  she  could  betray  me,"  said 
Camille  to  herself,  as  they  kissed  and  said  good-night. 

Then,  when  she  was  alone,  the  author  made  way  for  the 
woman — she  melted  into  tears;  she  filled  her  hookah  with 
tobacco  dipped  in  opium,  and  spent  the  greater  part  of  the 
night  smoking,  and  thus  numbing  the  tortures  of  her  love, 
while  seeing,  through  the  clouds  of  smoke,  Calyste's  charming 
head. 

"What  a  fine  book  might  be  written  containing  the  story 
of  my  sorrows?"  said  she  to  herself;  "but  it  has  been  done. 
Sappho  lived  before  me.  Sappho  was  young !  A  touching 
and  lovely  heroine  indeed  is  a  woman  of  forty !  Smoke  your 
hookah,  my  poor  Camille,  you  have  not  even  the  privilege  of 
making  a  poem  out  of  your  woes ;  this  crowns  them  all." 

She  did  not  go  to  bed  till  daybreak,  mingling  tears,  spasms 
of  rage,  and  magnanimous  resolutions  in  the  long  meditation 
wherein  she  sometimes  considered  the  mysteries  of  the  Catholic 
11 


162  BEATRIX. 

religion,  of  which  she  had  never  thought  in  the  course  of  her 
reckless  life  as  an  artist  and  an  unbelieving  writer. 

Next  day,  Calyste,  advised  by  his  mother  to  act  exactly  on 
Camille's  instructions,  came  at  noon  and  stole  mysteriously 
up  to  Mademoiselle  des  Touches'  room,  where  he  found 
plenty  of  books.  Felicite  sat  in  an  armchair  by  the  window, 
smoking,  and  gazing  alternately  at  the  wild  marsh  landscape, 
at  the  sea,  and  at  Calyste,  with  whom  she  exchanged  a  few 
words  concerning  Beatrix.  At  a  certain  moment,  seeing  the 
Marquise  walking  in  the  garden,  she  went  to  the  window  to 
unfasten  the  curtains,  so  that  her  friend  should  see  her,  and 
drew  them  to  shut  out  the  light,  leaving  only  a  strip  that  fell 
on  Calyste' s  book. 

"  I  shall  ask  you  to  stay  to  dinner  this  evening,  my  child," 
said  she,  tumbling  his  hair,  **  and  you  must  refuse,  looking  at 
Beatrix ;  you  will  have  no  difficulty  in  making  her  understand 
how  deeply  you  regret  being  unable  to  remain  here." 

At  about  four  o'clock  Camille  left  him  and  went  to  play 
the  dreadful  farce  of  her  false  happiness  to  the  Marquise, 
whom  she  brought  back  to  the  drawing-room.  Calyste  then 
came  out  of  the  adjoining  room  ;  at  that  moment  he  felt  the 
shame  of  his  position.  The  look  he  gave  Beatrix,  though 
watched  for  by  Felicity,  was  even  more  expressive  than  she 
had  expected.     Beatrix  was  beautifully  dressed. 

"  How  elegant  you  are,  my  sweetheart !  "  said  Camille, 
when  Calyste  had  left. 

These  manoeuvres  went  on  for  six  days ;  they  were  seconded, 
without  Calyste's  knowledge,  by  the  most  ingenious  conver- 
sations between  Camille  and  her  friend.  There  was  between 
the  two  women  a  duel  without  truce,  in  which  the  weapons 
were  cunning,  feints,  generosity,  false  confessions,  astute  con- 
fidences, in  which  one  hid  her  love  and  the  other  stripped 
hers  bare,  while  nevertheless  the  iron  sharpness,  red  hot  with 
Camille's  treacherous  words,  pierced  her  friend's  heart  to  the 
core,  implanting  some  of  those  evil  feelings  which  good  women 


BEATRIX.  163 

find  it  so  hard  to  suppress.  Beatrix  in  the  end  took  offense 
at  the  suspicions  betrayed  by  Camille ;  she  thought  them  dis- 
honoring to  both  alike  ;  she  was  delighted  to  discover  in  the 
great  authoress  the  weakness  of  her  sex,  and  longed  for  the 
pleasure  of  showing  her  where  her  superiority  ended,  how  she 
might  be  humiliated, 

"Well,  my  dear,  what  are  you  going  to  tell  him  to-day?" 
she  asked,  with  a  spiteful  glance  at  her  friend,  when  the  im- 
aginary lover  asked  leave  to  remain.  **  On  Monday  we  had 
something  to  talk  over  ;  on  Tuesday  you  had  too  poor  a  din- 
ner ;  on  Wednesday  you  were  afraid  of  annoying  the  Baroness ; 
on  Thursday  we  were  going  out  together ;  yesterday  you  bid 
him  good-by  as  soon  as  he  opened  his  mouth.  Now,  I  want 
him  to  stay  to-day,  poor  boy  !  " 

"Already,  ray  dear  !  "  said  Camille,  with  biting  irony. 

Beatrix  colored. 

"Then  stay.  Monsieur  du  Guenic,"  said  Mademoiselle  des 
Touches,  assuming  a  queenly  air,  as  though  she  were  nettled. 

Beatrix  turned  cold  and  hard ;  she  was  crushing,  satirical, 
and  intolerable  to  Calyste,  whom  Felicite  sent  off  to  play 
mouche  with  Mademoiselle  de  Kergarouet. 

"  That  girl  is  not  dangerous  !  "  said  Beatrix,  smiling. 

Young  men  in  love  are  like  starving  people,  the  cook's 
preparations  do  not  satisfy  them  ;  they  think  too  much  of  the 
end  to  understand  the  means.  As  he  returned  from  les 
Touches  to  Guerande,  Calyste's  mind  was  full  of  Beatrix  ;  he 
did  not  know  what  deep  feminine  skill  Felicity  was  employing 
to  promote  his  interests — to  use  a  cant  phrase.  ,  In  the  course 
of  this  week  the  Marquise  had  written  but  one  letter  to  Conti, 
a  symptom  of  indifference  which  had  not  escaped  Camille. 

Calyste's  whole  life  was  concentrated  in  the  short  mo- 
ments when  he  saw  Beatrix ;  this  drop  of  water,  far  from 
quenching  his  thirst,  only  increased  it.  The  magic  words, 
"You  shall  be  loved,"  spoken  by  Camille  and  endorsed  by 
his  mother,  were  the  talisman  by  which  he  checked  the  fire 


164  BEATRIX. 

of  his  passion.  He  tried  to  kill  time  ;  he  could  not  sleep, 
and  cheated  his  sleeplessness  by  reading,  bringing  home  a 
barrow-load  of  books  every  evening,  as  Mariotte  expressed  it. 
His  aunt  cursed  Mademoiselle  des  Touches ;  but  the  Baroness, 
who  had  often  gone  up  to  her  son's  room  on  seeing  a  light 
there,  knew  the  secret  of  this  wakefulness.  Though  Fanny 
had  never  gotten  beyond  her  timidity  as  an  ignorant  girl,  and 
love's  books  had  remained  close  to  her,  her  motherly  tender- 
ness guided  her  to  certain  notions ;  still,  the  abysses  of  the 
sentiment  were  dark  to  her  and  hidden  by  clouds,  and  she  was 
very  much  alarmed  at  the  state  in  which  she  saw  her  son,  ter- 
rifying herself  over  the  one  absorbing  and  incomprehensible 
desire  that  was  consuming  him. 

Calyste  had,  in  fact,  but  one  idea :  the  image  of  Beatrix  was 
always  before  him.  During  the  evening,  over  the  cards,  his 
absence  of  mind  was  like  his  father's  slumbers.  Finding  him 
so  unlike  what  he  had  been  when  he  had  believed  himself  in 
love  with  Camille,  his  mother  recognized  with  a  sort  of  terror 
the  symptoms  of  a  genuine  passion,  a  thing  altogether  un- 
known in  the  .old  family  home.  Feverish  irritability  and  con- 
stant dreaming  made  Calyste  stupid.  He  would  often  sit  for 
hours  gazing  at  one  figure  in  the  tapestry.  That  morning  she 
had  advised  him  to  go  no  more  to  les  Touches,  but  to  give  up 
these  two  women. 

"  Not  go  to  les  Touches !  "  cried  he. 

"Nay,  go,  my  dear,  go;  do  not  be  angry,  my  darling," 
replied  she,  kissing  his  eyes,  which  had  flashed  flame  at  her. 

In  this  state  Calyste  was  within  an  ace  of  losing  the  fruits  of 
Camille's  skilled  manoeuvres  by  the  Breton  impetuosity  of  his 
love,  which  he  could  no  longer  master.  In  spite  of  his 
promises  to  Felicity,  he  vowed  that  he  would  see  and  speak  to 
Beatrix.  He  wanted  to  read  her  eyes,  to  drown  his  gaze  in 
their  depths,  to  study  the  little  details  of  her  dress,  to  breathe 
its  fragrance,  to  hear  the  music  of  her  voice,  follow  the  elegant 
deliberateness  of  her   movements,  embrace   her   figure  in  a 


BE  A  TRIX.  165 

glance — to  contemplate  her,  in  short,  as  a  great  general 
studies  the  field  on  which  a  decisive  battle  is  to  be  fought. 
He  wanted  her,  as  lovers  want ;  he  was  the  prey  of  such  desire 
as  closed  his  ears,  dulled  his  intellect,  and  threw  him  into  a 
morbid  condition,  in  which  he  no  longer  saw  obstacles  or  dis- 
tance, and  was  not  even  conscious  of  his  body. 

It  struck  him  that  he  might  go  to  les  Touches  before  the 
hour  agreed  upon,  hoping  to  find  Beatrix  in  the  garden.  He 
knew  that  she  walked  there  while  waiting  for  breakfast. 
Mademoiselle  des  Touches  and  her  friend  had  been  in  the 
morning  to  see  the  salt-marshes  and  the  basin  with  its  shore 
of  fine  sand,  into  which  the  sea  oozes,  looking  like  a  lake  in 
the  midst  of  the  sand-hills;  they  had  come  home,  and  were 
talking  as  they  wandered  about  the  yellow  gravel  paths  in  the 
garden. 

"If  this  landscape  interests  you,"  said  Camille,  "you 
should  go  to  le  Croisic  with  Calyste.  There  are  some  very 
fine  rocks  there,  cascades  of  granite,  little  bays  with  natural 
basins,  wonders  of  capricious  variety,  and  the  seashore  with 
thousands  of  fragments  of  marble,  a  whole  world  of  amuse- 
ment. You  will  see  women  making  wood;  that  is  to  say, 
plastering  masses  of  cow-dung  against  the  wall  to  dry,  and 
then  piling  them  to  keep,  like  peat  in  Paris ;  then,  in  winter, 
they  warm  themselves  by  that  fuel." 

"And  you  will  trust  Calyste?"  said  the  Marquise,  laugh- 
ing, in  a  tone  which  plainly  showed  that  Camille,  by  sulking 
with  Beatrix  the  night  before,  had  obliged  her  to  think  of 
Calyste. 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  when  you  know  the  angelic  soul  of  a  boy 
like  him  you  will  understand  me.  In  him  beauty  is  as  noth- 
ing, you  must  know  that  pure  heart,  that  guilelessness  that  is 
amazed  at  every  step  taken  in  the  realm  of  love.  What 
faith  !  what  candor  !  what  grace  !  The  ancients  had  good 
reason  to  worship  beauty  as  holy. 

"Some  traveler,  I  forget  whom,  tells  us  that  horses  in  a 


166  BEATRIX. 

state  of  freedom  take  the  handsomest  of  them  to  be  their 
leader.  Beauty,  my  dear,  is  the  genius  of  matter ;  it  is  the 
hall-mark  set  by  nature  on  her  most  perfect  creations ;  it  is 
the  truest  symbol,  as  it  is  the  greatest  chance.  Did  any  one 
ever  imagine  a  deformed  angel  ?  Do  not  they  combine  grace 
and  strength  ?  What  has  kept  us  standing  for  hours  together 
before  certain  pictures  in  Italy,  in  which  genius  has  striven 
for  years  to  realize  one  of  these  caprices  of  nature  ?  Come, 
with  your  hand  on  your  conscience,  was  it  not  the  ideal  of 
beauty  which  we  combined  in  our  minds  with  moral  grandeur  ? 
Well,  and  Calyste  is  one  of  those  dreams  made  real ;  he  has 
the  courage  of  the  lion,  who  remains  quiet  without  suspecting 
his  sovereignty.  When  he  feels  at  ease  he  is  brilliant ;  I  like 
his  girlish  diffidence.  In  his  heart,  my  soul  is  refreshed  after 
all  the  corruption,  the  ideas  of  science,  literature,  the  world, 
politics — all  the  futile  accessories  under  which  we  stifle  happi- 
ness. I  am  now  what  I  never  was  before — I  am  a  child  !  I 
am  sure  of  him,  but  I  like  to  pretend  jealousy ;  it  makes  him 
happy.     Beside,  it  is  part  of  my  secret." 

Beatrix  walked  on,  silent  and  pensive ;  Camille  was  en- 
during unspoken  martyrdom,  and  flashing  side-glances  at  her 
that  looked  like  flames. 

"Ah,  my  dear,  you — you  are  happy,"  said  Beatrix,  leaning 
her  hand  on  Camille' s  arm  like  a  woman  weary  of  some  covert 
resistance. 

"Yes!  very  happy!"  replied  poor  F6licit6,  with  savage 
bitterness. 

The  women  sank  on  to  a  bench,  both  exhausted.  No  crea- 
ture of  her  sex  was  ever  subjected  to  more  elaborate  seduction 
or  more  clear-sighted  Machiavellism  than  Madame  de  Roche- 
fide  had  been  during  the  last  week. 

"But  I — I  who  see  Conti's  infidelities,  who  swallow  them, 
who " 

"And  why  do  you  not  give  him  up?"  said  Camille,  dis- 
cerning a  favorable  moment  for  striking  a  decisive  blow. 


BEATRIX.  187 


"Can  I?" 
"Oh!   poorchild- 


They  both  sat  stupidly  gazing  at  a  clump  of  trees. 

"  I  will  go  and  hasten  breakfast,"  said  Camille,  "  this  walk 
has  given  me  an  appetite." 

**  Our  conversation  has  taken  away  mine,"  said  Beatrix. 

Beatrix,  a  white  figure  in  a  morning  dress,  stood  out  against 
the  green  masses  of  foliage.  Calyste,  who  had  stolen  into  the 
garden  through  the  drawing-room,  turned  down  a  path, 
walking  slowly  to  meet  the  Marquise  by  chance,  as  it  were; 
and  Beatrix  could  not  help  starting  a  little  when  she  saw 
him, 

"How  did  I  displease  you  yesterday,  madame?"  asked 
Calyste,  after  a  few  commonplace  remarks  had  been  ex- 
changed. 

"Why,  you  neither  please  me  nor  displease  me,"  said  she 
gently. 

Her  tone,  her  manner,  her  delightful  grace  encouraged 
Calyste. 

"  I  am  indifferent  to  you?  "  said  he,  in  a  voice  husky  with 
the  tears  that  rose  to  his  eyes. 

"Must  we  not  be  indifferent  to  each  other?"  replied 
Beatrix.     "  Each  of  us  has  a  sincere  attachment " 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Calyste  eagerly,  "  I  did  love  Camille;  but  I 
do  not  love  her  now." 

"  Then  what  do  you  do  every  day,  all  the  morning  long?" 
asked  she,  with  a  perfidious  smile.  "  I  cannot  suppose  that, 
in  spite  of  her  passion  for  tobacco,  Camille  prefers  her  cigar 
to  you ;  or  that,  in  spite  of  your  admiration  for  authoresses, 
you  spend  four  hours  in  reading  novels  by  women." 

"  Then  you  know?  "  said  the  innocent  boy,  his  face  flushed 
with  the  joy  of  gazing  at  his  idol. 

"  Calyste  !  "  cried  Camille  violently,  as  she  appeared  on 
the  scene,  seizing  him  by  the  arm  and  pulling  him  some  steps; 
"  Calyste,  is  this  what  you  promised  me?" 


168  BEATRIX. 

The  Marquise  heard  this  reproof,  while  Mademoiselle  des 
Touches  went  off  scolding  and  leading  away  Calyste ;  she 
stood  mystified  by  Calyste's  avowal,  and  unable  to  understand 
it.  Madame  de  Rochefide  was  not  so  clear-sighted  as  Claud 
Vignon.  ^The  truth  of  the  terrible  and  sublime  comedy  per- 
formed by  Camille  is  one  of  those  parts  of  magnanimous 
infamy  which  a  woman  can  conceive  of  only  in  the  last 
extremity.  It  means  a  breaking  heart,  the  end  of  her  feelings 
as  a  woman,  and  the  beginning  of  a  sacrifice,  which  drags  her 
down  to  hell  or  leads  her  to  heaven. 

During  breakfast,  to  which  Calyste  was  invited,  Beatrix, 
whose  feelings  were  lofty  and  proud,  had  already  undergone 
a  revulsion,  stifling  the  germs  of  love  that  were  sprouting  in 
her  heart.  She  was  not  hard  or  cold  to  Calyste,  but  her  mild 
indifference  wrung  his  heart.  Felicite  proposed  that  they 
should  go  on  the  next  day  but  one  to  make  an  excursion 
through  the  strange  tract  of  country  lying  between  les  Touches, 
le  Croisic,  and  le  Bourg  de  Batz.  She  begged  Calyste  to  spend 
the  morrow  in  finding  a  boat  and  some  men,  in  case  they 
should  wish  to  go  out  by  sea.  She  undertook  to  supply 
provisions,  horses,  and  everything  necessary  to  spare  them 
any  fatigue  in  this  party  of  pleasure. 

Beatrix  cut  her  short  by  saying  that  she  would  not  take  the 
risk  of  running  about  the  country.  Calyste's  face,  which  had 
expressed  lively  delight,  was  suddenly  clouded. 

"  Why,  what  are  you  afraid  of,  my  dear?"  said  Camille. 

*'  My  position  is  too  delicate  to  allow  of  my  compromising, 
not  my  reputation,  but  my  happiness,"  she  said  with  mean- 
ing, and  she  looked  at  the  lad.  "You  know  how  jealous 
Conti  is;  if  he  knew " 

"And  who  is  to  tell  him?" 

"  Will  he  not  come  back  to  fetch  me?" 

At  these  words  Calyste  turned  pale.  Notwithstanding 
Felicity's  arguments  and  those  of  the  young  Breton,  Madame 
de  Rochefide  was  inexorable  and  showed  what  Camille  called 


BEATRIX.  169 

her  obstinacy.  Calyste,  in  spite  of  the  hopes  F6licit6  gave 
him,  left  les  Touches  in  one  of  those  fits  of  lover's  distress  of 
which  the  violence  often  rises  to  the  pitch  of  madness. 

On  his  return  home,  Calyste  did  not  quit  his  room  till 
dinner-time,  and  went  back  again  soon  after.  At  ten  o'clock 
his  mother  became  uneasy  and  went  up  to  him ;  she  found 
him  writing  in  the  midst  of  a  quantity  of  torn  papers  and 
rough  copy.  He  was  writing  to  Beatrix,  for  he  distrusted 
Camille ;  the  Marquise's  manner  during  their  interview  in  the 
garden  had  encouraged  him  strangely. 

Never  did  a  first  love-letter  spring  in  a  burning  fount  from 
the  soul,  as  might  be  supposed.  In  all  youths,  as  yet  uncor- 
rupted,  such  a  letter  is  produced  with  a  flow  too  hotly  effer- 
vescent not  to  be  the  elixir  of  several  letters  begun,  rejected, 
and  re-written. 

Here  is  that  sent  by  Calyste,  which  he  read  to  his  poor, 
astonished  mother.  To  her,  the  old  house  was  on  fire ;  her 
son's  love  blazed  up  in  it  like  the  flare  of  a  conflagration  : 

Calyste  to  Beatrix. 

**  Madame  : — I  loved  you  when  as  yet  you  were  but  a  dream 
to  me ;  imagine  the  fervor  assumed  by  my  love  when  I  saw 
you.  The  dream  was  surpassed  by  the  reality.  My  regret  is 
that  I  have  nothing  to  tell  you  that  you  do  not  know,  when  I 
say  how  beautiful  you  are ;  still,  perhaps,  your  beauty  never 
gave  rise  to  so  many  feelings  in  any  one  as  in  me.  You  are 
beautiful  in  so  many  ways ;  I  have  studied  you  so  thoroughly 
by  thinking  of  you  day  and  night,  that  I  have  penetrated  the 
mystery  of  your  personality,  the  secrets  of  your  heart,  and 
your  misprized  refinements.  Have  you  ever  been  loved  as 
you  deserve  ? 

"  Let  me  tell  you,  then,  that  there  is  nothing  in  you  which 
has  not  its  interpretation  in  my  heart ;  your  pride  answers  to 


170  BEATRIX. 

mine,  the  dignity  of  your  looks,  the  grace  of  your  mien,  the 
elegance  of  your  movements — everything  in  you  is  in  har- 
mony with  the  thoughts  and  wishes  hidden  in  your  secret 
soul ;  and  it  is  because  I  can  read  them  that  I  think  myself 
worthy  of  you.  If  I  had  not  become,  within  these  few  days, 
your  second  self,  should  I  dare  speak  to  you  of  myself?  To 
read  myself  would  be  egotistic ;  it  is  you  I  speak  of  here,  not 
Calyste. 

"To  write  to  you,  Beatrix,  I  have  set  my  twenty  years 
aside ;  I  have  stolen  a  march  on  myself  and  aged  my  mind — 
or,  perhaps,  you  have  aged  it  by  a  week  of  the  most  horrible 
torments,  caused,  innocently  indeed,  by  you.  Do  not  take 
me  for  one  of  those  commonplace  lovers  at  whom  you  laugh 
with  such  good  reason.  What  merit  is  there,  indeed,  in  loving 
a  young,  beautiful,  clever,  noble  woman  !  Alas,  I  cannot  even 
dream  of  deserving  you  !  What  am  I  to  you  ?  A  boy  at- 
tracted by  beauty  and  moral  worth,  as  an  insect  is  attracted 
by  light.  You  cannot  do  anything  else  than  trample  on  the 
flowers  of  my  soul,  yet  all  my  happiness  lies  in  seeing  you 
spurn  them  under  foot.  Absolute  devotion,  unlimited  faith, 
the  maddest  passion — all  these  treasures  of  a  true  and  loving 
heart  are  nothing ;  they  help  me  to  love,  they  cannot  win 
love. 

"  Sometimes  I  wonder  that  such  fervent  fanaticism  should 
fail  to  warm  the  idol ;  and  when  I  meet  your  severe,  cold 
eye,  I  feel  myself  turn  to  ice.  Your  disdain  affects  me  then 
and  not  my  adoration.  Why  ?  You  cannot  possibly  hate  me 
so  much  as  I  love  you ;  so  ought  the  weaker  feeling  to  get  the 
mastery  over  the  stronger? 

"  I  loved  Felicity  with  all  the  strength  of  my  heart ;  I 
forgot  her  in  a  day,  in  an  instant,  on  seeing  you.  She  was  a 
mistake,  you  are  the  truth.  You,  without  knowing  it,  have 
wrecked  my  happiness,  and  you  owe  me  nothing  in  exchange. 
I  loved  Camille  without  hope,  and  you  give  me  no  hopes; 
nothing  is  changed  but  the  divinity.     I  was  a  pagan,  I  am  a 


BEATRIX.  171 

Christian ;  that  is  all.  Only,  you  have  taught  me  to  love — 
to  be  loved,  does  not  come  till  later.  Camille  says  it  is  not 
love  that  loves  only  for  a  few  days ;  the  love  that  does  not 
grow  day  by  day  is  a  contemptible  passion  ;  to  continue  grow- 
ing it  must  not  foresee  its  end,  and  she  could  see  the  setting 
of  our  sun. 

**  On  seeing  you,  I  understood  these  sayings  which  I  had 
struggled  against  with  all  my  youth,  all  the  rage  of  my  de- 
sires, all  the  fierce  despotism  of  my  twenty  years.  Then  our 
great  and  sublime  Camille  mingled  her  tears  with  mine.  So  I 
may  love  you  on  earth  and  in  heaven,  as  we  love  God.  If  you 
loved  me,  you  could  not  meet  me  with  the  reasoning  by  which 
Camille  annihilated  my  efforts.  We  are  both  young,  we  can 
fly  on  the  same  wings,  under  the  same  sky,  and  never  fear  the 
storm  that  threatened  that  eagle. 

"But  what  am  I  saying?  I  am  carried  far  beyond  the 
modesty  of  my  hopes.  You  will  cease  to  believe  in  the  sub- 
mission, the  patience,  the  mute  worship,  which  I  implore  you 
not  to  wound  needlessly.  I  know,  Beatrix,  that  you  cannot 
love  me  without  falling  in  your  own  esteem.  And  I  ask  for 
no  return. 

"  Camille  said  once  that  there  was  an  innate  fatality  in 
names,  as  in  her  own.  I  felt  this  fatality  in  yours  when  on 
the  pier  at  Guerande  it  struck  my  eyes  on  the  seashore ;  you 
will  come  into  my  life  as  Beatrice  came  into  Dante's.  My 
heart  will  be  the  pedestal  for  a  white  statue — vindictive,  jeal- 
ous, and  tyrannous.  You  are  prohibited  from  loving  me; 
you  would  endure  a  thousand  deaths ;  you  would  be  deceived, 
mortified,  unhappy.  There  is  in  you  a  diabolical  pride  which 
binds  you  to  the  pillar  you  have  laid  hold  on ;  you  will  perish 
while  shaking  the  temple  like  Samson.  I  did  not  discover  all 
these  things;  my  love  is  too  blind  ;  Camille  told  me.  Here 
it  is  not  my  mind  that  speaks,  but  hers ;  I  have  no  wits  when 
you  are  in  question,  a  tide  of  blood  comes  up  from  my  heart, 
darkening  my  intellect  with  its  waves,  depriving  me  of  my 


172  BEATRIX. 

powers,  paralyzing  my  tongue,  making  my  knees  quake  and 
bend.  I  can  only  adore  you,  whatever  you  do.  Camille 
calls  your  firmness  obstinacy ;  I  defend  you ;  I  believe  it  to 
be  dictated  by  virtue.  You  are  only  the  more  beautiful  in 
my  eyes.  I  know  my  fate ;  the  pride  of  Brittany  is  a  match 
for  the  woman  who  has  made  a  virtue  of  hers. 

"  And  so,  dear  Beatrix,  be  kind  and  comforting  to  me. 
When  the  victims  were  chosen,  they  were  crowned  with 
flowers ;  you  owe  me  the  garlands  of  compassion  and  music 
for  the  sacrifice.  Am  I  not  the  proof  of  your  greatness,  and 
will  you  not  rise  to  the  height  of  my  love,  scorned  in  spite  of 
its  sincerity,  in  spite  of  its  undying  fires? 

"Ask  Camille  what  my  conduct  has  been  since  the  day 
when  she  told  me  that  she  loved  Claud  Vignon.  I  was  mute ; 
I  suffered  in  silence.  Well,  then,  for  you  I  could  find  yet 
greater  strength,  if  you  do  not  drive  me  to  desperation,  if  you 
understand  my  heroism.  One  word  of  praise  from  you  would 
enable  me  to  bear  the  torments  of  martyrdom.  If  you  per- 
sist in  this  cold  silence,  this  deadly  disdain,  you  will  make 
me  believe  that  I  am  to  be  feared.  Oh,  be  to  me  all  you  can 
be — charming,  gay,  witty,  affectionate.  Talk  to  me  of  Gen- 
naro  as  Camille  did  of  Claud.  I  have  no  genius  but  that  of 
love  ;  there  is  nothing  formidable  in  me,  and  in  your  presence 
I  will  behave  as  though  I  did  not  love  you. 

**  Can  you  reject  the  prayer  of  such  humble  devotion,  of  a 
hapless  youth  who  only  asks  that  his  sun  should  give  him 
light  and  warm  him  ?  The  man  you  love  will  always  see  you ; 
poor  Calyste  has  but  a  few  days  before  him,  you  will  soon  be 
rid  of  him.  So  I  may  go  to  les  Touches  again  to-morrow, 
may  I  not  ?  You  will  not  refuse  my  arm  to  guide  you  around 
the  shores  of  le  Croisic  and  le  Bourg  de  Batz  ?  If  you  should 
not  come,  that  will  be  an  answer,  and  understood  by  Calyste." 

There  were  four  pages  more  of  close  small  writing,  in  which 
Calyste  explained  the  terrible  threat  contained  in  these  last 


BEATRIX.  178 

words,  by  relating  the  story  of  his  boyhood  and  life ;  but  he 
told  it  in  exclamatory  phrases ;  there  were  many  of  those  dots 
and  dashes  lavishly  scattered  through  modern  literature  in 
perilous  passages,  like  planks  laid  before  the  reader  to  enable 
him  to  cross  the  gulf.  This  artless  picture  would  be  a  repeti- 
tion of  our  narrative ;  if  it  did  not  touch  Madame  de  Roche- 
fide,  it  could  scarcely  interest  those  who  seek  strong  sensa- 
tions ;  but  it  made  his  mother  weep  and  say — 

"Then  you  have  not  been  happy?" 

This  terrible  poem  of  feeling  that  had  come  like  a  storm  on 
Calyste's  heart,  and  was  to  be  sent  like  a  whirlwind  to  another, 
frightened  the  Baroness ;  it  was  the  first  time  in  her  life  that 
she  had  ever  read  a  love-letter. 

Calyste  was  standing  up;  there  was  one  great  difficulty: 
he  did  not  know  how  to  send  his  letter. 

The  Chevalier  du  Halga  was  still  in  the  sitting-room,  where 
they  were  playing  off  the  last  pool  of  a  very  lively  mouche. 
Charlotte  de  Kergarouet,  in  despair  at  Calyste's  indifference, 
was  trying  to  charm  the  old  people  in  the  hope  of  thus  secur- 
ing her  marriage.  Calyste  followed  his  mother,  and  came 
back  into  the  room  with  the  letter  in  his  breast-pocket — it 
seemed  to  scorch  his  heart ;  he  wandered  about  and  up  and 
down  the  room  like  a  moth  that  had  come  in  by  mistake.  At 
last  the  mother  and  son  got  Monsieur  du  Halga  into  the  hall, 
whence  they  dismissed  Mariotte  and  Mademoiselle  de  Pen- 
Hoel's  little  servant. 

"  What  do  they  want  of  the  chevalier?  "  said  old  Zdphirine 
to  the  other  old  maid. 

"  Calyste  seems  to  me  to  be  out  of  his  mind,"  replied  she. 
"  He  pays  no  more  heed  to  Charlotte  than  if  she  were  one  of 
the  marsh-girls." 

The  Baroness  had  very  shrewdly  supposed  that  the  Chevalier 
du  Halga  must,  somewhere  about  the  year  1780,  have  sailed 
the  seas  of  gallant  adventure,  and  she  advised  Calyste  to  con- 
sult him. 


174  BEATRIX. 

"  What  is  the  best  way  to  send  a  letter  secretly  to  a  lady?" 
said  Calyste  to  the  chevalier  in  a  whisper. 

"You  can  give  the  note  to  her  lady's-maid,  with  a  few 
louis  in  her  hand,  for  sooner  or  later  the  maid  is  in  the 
secret,  and  it  is  best  to  let  her  know  it  from  the  first,"  replied 
the  chevalier,  who  could  not  suppress  a  smile  j  "  but  it  is 
better  to  deliver  it  yourself." 

"A  few  louis !  "  exclaimed  the  Baroness. 

Calyste  went  away  and  fetched  his  hat ;  then  he  flew  off  to 
les  Touches,  and  walked  like  an  apparition  into  the  little 
drawing-room,  where  he  heard  Beatrix  and  Camille  talking. 
They  were  sitting  on  the  divan,  and  seemed  on  the  best  possi- 
ble terms.  Calyste,  with  the  sudden  wit  that  love  imparts, 
flung  himself  heedlessly  on  the  divan  by  the  Marquise,  seized 
her  hand,  and  pressed  the  letter  into  it,  so  that  Felicite, 
watchful  as  she  might  be,  could  not  see  it  done.  Calyste's 
heart  fluttered  with  an  emotion  that  was  at  once  acute  and 
delightful,  as  he  felt  Beatrix's  hand  grasp  his,  and  without 
even  interrupting  her  sentence  or  seeming  surprised,  she 
slipped  the  letter  into  her  gloves. 

"You  fling  yourself  on  a  woman  as  if  she  were  a  divan," 
said  she  with  a  laugh. 

"  He  has  not,  however,  adopted  the  doctrine  of  the  Turks ! " 
said  Felicite,  who  could  not  forbear  from  this  retort. 

Calyste  rose,  took  Camille's  hand,  and  kissed  it ;  then  he 
went  to  the  piano  and  made  every  note  sound  in  a  long  scale 
by  running  one  finger  over  them.  This  glad  excitement  puz- 
zled Camille,  who  told  him  to  come  to  speak  to  her. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  she  asked  in  his  ear. 

"  Nothing,"  said  he. 

"There  is  something  between  them,"  said  Mademoiselle 
des  Touches  to  herself. 

The  Marquise  was  impenetrable.  Camille  tried  to  make 
Calyste  talk,  hoping  that  he  might  betray  himself;  but  the 
boy  made  an  excuse  of  the  uneasiness  his  mother  would  feel. 


BEATRIX,  176 

and  he  left  les  Touches  at  eleven  o'clock,  not  without  having 
stood  the  fire  of  a  piercing  look  from  Camilla,  to  whom  he 
had  never  before  made  this  excuse. 

After  the  agitations  of  a  night  filled  with  Beatrix,  after  he 
had  been  into  the  town  twenty  times  in  the  course  of  the 
morning,  in  the  hope  of  meeting  the  answer  which  did  not 
come,  the  Marquise's  maid  came  to  the  Hotel  du  Guenic, 
and  gave  the  following  reply  to  Calyste,  who  went  off  to  read 
it  in  the  arbor  at  the  end  of  the  garden  : 

Beatrix  to  Calyste. 

"  You  are  a  noble  boy,  but  you  are  a  boy.  You  owe  your- 
self to  Camille,  who  worships  you.  You  will  not  find  in  me 
either  the  perfections  that  distinguish  her  or  the  happiness 
she  lavishes  on  you.  Whatever  you  may  think,  it  is  she  who 
is  young  and  I  who  am  old  ;  her  heart  is  full  of  treasures,  and 
mine  is  empty.  She  is  devoted  to  you  in  a  way  you  do  not 
appreciate  enough  ;  she  has  no  selfishness,  and  lives  wholly 
in  you.  I  should  be  full  of  doubts ;  I  should  drag  you  into 
a  life  that  is  weariful,  ignoble,  and  spoiled  by  my  own  fault. 
Camille  is  free,  she  comes  and  goes  at  her  will ;  I  am  a  slave. 
In  short,  you  forget  that  I  love  and  am  loved.  The  position 
in  which  I  find  myself  ought  to  protect  me  against  any  hom- 
age. To  love  me,  to  tell  me  that  you  love  me,  is  an  insult. 
Would  not  a  second  lapse  place  me  on  the  level  of  the  most 
abandoned  women  ? 

"  You,  who  are  young  and  full  of  delicate  feeling,  how  can 
you  compel  me  to  say  things  which  the  heart  cannot  utter 
without  being  torn. 

**  I  preferred  the  scandal  of  an  irreparable  disaster  to  the 
shame  of  perpetual  deceit,  my  own  ruin  to  the  loss  of  my 
self-respect.  In  the  eyes  of  many  people  whose  esteem  I 
value,  I  still  stand  high ;  if  I  should  change,  I  should  fall 
some  steps  lower.     The  world   is  still  merciful   to  women 


176  BEATRIX. 

whose  constancy  cloaks  their  illicit  happiness,  but  it  is  pitiless 
to  a  vicious  habit. 

"  I  feel  neither  scorn  nor  anger;  I  am  answering  you  with 
frank  simplicity.  You  are  young,  you  know  nothing  of  the 
world,  you  are  carried  away  by  imagination,  and,  like  all  men 
of  pure  life,  you  are  incapable  of  the  reflections  induced  by 
disaster.  I  will  go  further :  If  I  should  be  of  all  women  the 
most  mortified  ;  if  I  had  horrible  misery  to  hide ;  if  I  were 
deceived  and  deserted  at  last — and,  thank  God,  nothing  of 
that  is  possible — if,  I  say,  by  the  vengeance  of  heaven  these 
things  were,  no  one  in  the  world  would  ever  see  me  again. 
And  then  I  could  find  it  in  me  to  kill  the  man  who  should 
speak  to  me  of  love,  if  a  man  could  still  find  me  where  I 
should  be.     There  you  have  the  whole  of  my  mind. 

"  Perhaps  I  have  to  thank  you  for  having  written  to  me. 
After  your  letter,  and  especially  after  my  reply,  I  may  be 
quite  at  my  ease  with  you  at  les  Touches,  follow  the  bent  of 
my  humor,  and  be  what  you  ask  me  to  be.  I  say  nothing  of 
the  bitter  ridicule  I  should  incur  if  my  eyes  should  cease  to 
express  the  sentiments  of  which  you  complain.  To  rob 
Camille  a  second  time  would  be  an  evidence  of  weakness  to 
which  no  woman  could  twice  resign  herself.  If  I  loved  you 
madly,  if  I  were  blind,  if  I  were  forgetful  of  everything  else, 
I  should  always  see  Camille.  Her  love  for  you  is  a  barrier 
too  high  to  be  crossed  by  any  force,  even  with  the  wings  of 
an  angel ;  only  demons  would  not  recoil  from  such  base 
treachery. 

"  In  this,  my  child,  lies  a  world  of  reasons  which  noble 
and  refined  women  keep  to  themselves,  of  which  you  men 
know  nothing,  even  when  a  man  is  so  like  a  woman  as  you 
are  at  this  moment. 

"  Finally,  you  have  a  mother  who  has  shown  you  what  a 
woman's  life  ought  to  be ;  pure  and  spotless,  she  has  fulfilled 
her  fate  nobly ;  all  I  know  of  her  has  filled  my  eyes  with 
tears  of  envy  which  has  risen  from  the  depths  of  my  heart. 


BEATRIX.  177 

I  might  have  been  like  her  !  Calyste,  this  is  what  your  wife 
ought  to  be ;  this  is  what  her  life  ought  to  be. 

**  I  will  not  again  cast  you  back  maliciously,  as  I  have  done, 
on  little  Charlotte,  who  would  bore  you  from  the  first,  but  on 
some  exquisite  girl  who  is  worthy  of  you.  If  I  gave  myself 
to  you,  I  should  spoil  your  life.  Either  you  would  fail  in 
faithfulness,  in  constancy,  or  you  would  resolve  to  devote 
your  life  to  me :  I  will  be  honest — I  should  take  it ;  I  should 
carry  you  off  I  know  not  whither,  far  from  the  world ;  I 
should  make  you  very  unhappy ;  I  am  jealous.  I  see  mon- 
sters in  a  drop  of  water ;  I  am  in  despair  over  odious  trifles 
which  many  women  put  up  with  ;  there  are  even  inexorable 
thoughts,  originating  in  myself,  not  caused  by  you,  which 
would  wound  me  to  death.  When  a  man  is  not  as  respectful 
and  as  delicate  in  the  tenth  year  of  his  happiness  as  he  was 
on  the  eve  of  the  day  when  he  was  a  beggar  for  a  favor,  he 
seems  to  me  a  wretch  and  degrades  me  in  my  own  eyes. 
Such  a  lover  no  longer  believes  in  the  Amadis  and  Cyrus  of 
my  dreams.  In  our  day  love  is  purely  mythical ;  and  in  you 
I  find  no  more  than  the  fatuity  of  a  desire  which  knows  not 
its  end.  I  am  not  forty  \  I  cannot  yet  bring  my  pride  to 
bend  to  the  authority  of  experience ;  I  know  not  the  love 
that  could  make  me  humble  ;  in  fact,  I  am  a  woman  whose 
nature  is  still  too  youthful  not  to  be  detestable.  I  cannot 
answer  for  my  moods ;  all  my  graciousness  is  on  the  surface. 
Perhaps  I  have  not  suffered  enough  yet  to  have  acquired  the 
indulgent  ways,  the  perfect  tenderness  that  we  owe  to  cruel 
deceptions.  Happiness  has  its  impertinence,  and  I  am  very 
impertinent.  Camille  will  always  be  your  devoted  slave,  I 
should  be  an  unreasonable  tyrant. 

"Indeed,  is  not  Camille  set  by  your  side  by  your  good 
angel,  to  guard  you  till  you  have  reached  the  moment  when 
you  must  start  on  the  life  that  is  in  store  for  you,  and  which 
you  must  not  fail  in?  I  know  Felicite  !  Her  tenderness  is 
inexhaustible ;  she  may  perhaps  lack  some  of  the  graces  of  her 
12 


178  BE  A  TRIX. 

sex,  but  she  shows  that  vivifying  strength,  that  genius  for  con- 
stancy, and  that  lofty  courage  which  make  everything  accept- 
able. She  will  see  you  marry  while  suffering  tortures;  she  will 
find  you  a  free  Beatrix,  if  Beatrix  fulfills  your  ideal  of  woman 
and  answers  to  your  dreams ;  she  will  smooth  out  all  the  diffi- 
culties in  your  future  life.  The  sale  of  a  single  acre  of  her 
land  in  Paris  will  redeem  your  estates  in  Brittany  ;  she  will 
make  you  her  heir — has  she  not  already  adopted  you  as  a 
son  ?  And  I,  alas !  What  can  I  do  for  your  happiness  ? 
Nothing. 

**  Do  not  be  false  to  an  immeasurable  affection  which  has 
made  up  its  mind  to  the  duties  of  motherliness.  To  me  she 
seems  most  happy — this  Camille  !  The  admiration  you  feel 
for  poor  Beatrix  is  such  a  peccadillo  as  women  of  Camille's 
age  view  with  the  greatest  indulgence.  When  they  are  sure 
of  being  loved  they  will  allow  constancy  a  little  infidelity  ; 
nay,  one  of  their  keenest  pleasures  is  to  triumph  over  the 
youth  of  their  rivals. 

"  Camille  is  superior  to  other  women,  all  this  does  not  bear 
upon  her;  I  only  say  it  to  reassure  your  conscience.  I  have 
studied  Camille  well ;  she  is  in  my  eyes  one  of  the  grandest 
figures  of  our  time.  She  is  both  clever  and  kind,  two  quali- 
ties rarely  united  in  a  woman  ;  she  is  generous  and  simple,  two 
more  great  qualities  seldom  found  together.  I  have  seen  trust- 
worthy treasures  in  the  depths  of  her  heart ;  it  would  seem 
as  though  Dante  had  written  for  her  in  the  *  Paradiso '  the 
beautiful  lines  on  eternal  happiness  which  she  was  interpreting 
to  you  the  other  evening,  ending  with  Senza  brama  sicura 
richezza. 

"  She  has  talked  to  me  of  her  fate  in  life,  told  me  all  her 
experience,  and  proved  to  me  that  love,  the  object  of  our  de- 
sires and  dreams,  had  always  evaded  her ;  I  replied  that  she 
seemed  to  me  a  proof  of  that  difficulty  of  matching  anything 
sublime,  which  accounts  for  much  unhappiness.  Yours  is  one 
of  the  angelic  souls  whose  sister-soul  it  seems  impossible  to 


BEATRIX.  179 

find.  This  misfortune,  dear  child,  is  what  Camilla  will  spare 
you ;  even  if  she  should  die  for  it,  she  will  find  you  a  being 
with  whom  you  may  live  happy  as  a  husband. 

*'  I  offer  you  a  friend's  hand,  and  trust,  not  to  your  heart, 
but  to  your  sense,  to  find  that  we  are  henceforth  to  each  other 
a  brother  and  sister,  and  to  terminate  our  correspondence, 
which,  between  les  Touches  and  Guerande,  is  odd,  to  say  the 
least  of  it. 

"Beatrix  de  Casteran." 

The  Baroness,  in  the  highest  degree  excited  by  the  details 
and  progress  of  her  son's  love  affairs  with  the  beautiful  Roche- 
fide,  could  not  sit  still  in  the  room,  where  she  was  working  at 
her  cross-stitch,  looking  up  at  every  stitch  to  watch  Calyste  ,•• 
she  rose  from  her  chair  and  came  up  to  him  with  a  mixture  of 
diffidence  and  boldness.  The  mother  had  all  the  graces  of  a 
courtesan  about  to  ask  a  favor. 

"Well?"  said  she,  trembling,  but  not  actually  asking  to 
see  the  letter. 

Calyste  showed  it  her  in  his  hand,  and  read  it  aloud  to  her. 
The  two  noble  souls,  so  simple  and  ingenuous,  discovered  in 
this  astute  and  perfidious  reply  none  of  the  treachery  and 
snares  infused  into  it  by  the  Marquise. 

"She  is  a  noble  and  high-minded  woman!"  said  the 
Baroness,  whose  eyes  glistened  with  moisture.  "I  will  pray 
to  God  for  her.  I  never  believed  that  a  mother  could  desert 
her  husband  and  child  and  preserve  so  much  virtue.  She 
deserves  to  be  forgiven." 

"Am  I  not  right  to  worship  her?"  cried  Calyste. 

"But  whither  will  this  love  lead  you?"  said  his  mother. 
"Oh!  my  child,  how  dangerous  are  these  women  of  noble 
sentiments!  Bad  women  are  less  to  be  feared.  Marry 
Charlotte  de  Kergarouet,  and  release  two-thirds  of  the  family 
estates.  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel  can  achieve  this  great 
end  by  selling  a  few  farms,  and  the  good  soul  will  devote 


180  BEATRIX. 

herself  to  improving  the  property.  You  may  leave  your 
children  a  noble  name,  a  fine  fortune " 

"What,  forget  Beatrix?"  said  Calyste  in  a  hollow  voice, 
his  eyes  fixed  on  the  floor. 

He  left  his  mother,  and  went  up  to  his  room  to  reply  to  this 
letter. 

Madame  du  Guenic  had  Madame  de  Rochefide's  words 
stamped  on  her  heart :  she  wanted  to  know  on  what  Calyste 
founded  his  hopes.  At  about  this  hour  the  chevalier  would 
be  exercising  his  dog  on  the  mall ;  the  Baroness,  sure  of 
finding  him  there,  put  on  a  bonnet  and  shawl  and  went  out. 
It  was  so  extraordinary  an  event  to  see  Madame  du  Guenic 
out,  excepting  at  church,  or  in  one  of  the  two  pretty  alleys 
that  were  frequented  on  fete-days,  when  she  would  accompany 
her  husband  and  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel,  that,  within  two 
hours,  every  one  was  saying  to  every  one  else,  *'  Madame  du 
Guenic  was  out  to-day  ;  did  you  see  her  ? ' '  Thus  before  long 
the  news  came  to  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel's  ears,  and  she 
said  to  her  niece — 

*'  Something  very  strange  is  certainly  happening  at  the  du 
Guenics'." 

"  Calyste  is  madly  in  love  with  the  beautiful  Marquise  de 
Rochefide,"  said  Charlotte.  "I  should  do  better  to  leave 
Guerande  and  go  back  to  Nantes." 

At  this  moment  the  Chevalier  du  Halga,  surprised  at  being 
sought  out  by  the  Baroness,  had  released  Thisbe  from  her 
cord,  recognizing  the  impossibility  of  attending  to  two  ladies 
at  once. 

"  Chevalier,  you  have  had  some  experience  in  love  affairs  ?" 
said  the  Baroness. 

Captain  du  Halga  drew  himself  up  with  not  a  little  of  the 
airs  of  a  coxcomb.  Madame  du  Guenic,  without  naming  her 
son  or  the  Marquise,  told  him  the  contents  of  the  love  letter, 
asking  him  what  could  be  the  meaning  of  such  an  answer. 
The  chevalier  stood  with   his  nose  in  the  air  caressing  his 


BEATRIX.  181 

chin  ;  he  listened  with  little  grimaces ;  and  at  last  he  looked 
keenly  at  the  Baroness. 

'*  When  a  thoroughbred  horse  means  to  leap  a  fence,  it  goes 
up  to  it  first  to  smell  it  and  examine  it,"  he  said.  "  Calyste 
will  be  the  happiest  young  rogue " 

"  Hush  !  "  said  the  Baroness. 

"  I  am  dumb.  In  old  times  that  was  my  only  point,"  said 
the  old  man.  **  It  is  fine  weather,"  he  went  on  after  a  pause, 
**  the  wind   is   northeasterly.      By   heaven  !    how  the  Belle- 

Poule  danced  before  that  wind  on  the  day But,"  he 

went  on,  interrupting  himself,  "  I  have  a  singing  in  my  ears 
and  pains  in  the  false-ribs;  the  weather  will  change.  You 
know  that  the  fight  of  the  Belle-Poule  was  so  famous  that 
ladies  wore  Belle-Poule  caps.  Madame  de  Kergarouet  was 
the  first  to  appear  at  the  opera  in  such  a  head-dress.  '  You 
are  dressed  for  conquest,'  I  said  to  her.  The  words  were 
repeated  in  every  box." 

The  Baroness  listened  politely  to  the  old  man,  who,  faithful 
to  the  laws  of  old-world  etiquette,  escorted  her  back  to  the 
little  street,  neglecting  Thisbe.  He  let  out  the  secret  of 
Thisbe's  birth.  She  was  the  granddaughter  of  that  sweet 
Thisbe  that  had  belonged  to  Madame  la  Comtesse  de  Kerga- 
rouet, the  Admiral's  first  wife.  This  Thisbe  the  third  was 
eighteen  years  old. 

The  Baroness  ran  lightly  up  to  Calyste's  room,  as  gleeful  as 
if  she  were  in  love  herself.  Calyste  was  not  there,  but  Fanny 
saw  a  letter  on  the  table  addressed  to  Madame  de  Rochefide, 
folded,  but  not  sealed.  Irresistible  curiosity  prompted  the 
anxious  mother  to  read  her  son's  answer.  The  indiscretion 
was  cruelly  punished ;  she  felt  horrible  anguish  when  she  saw 
the  precipice  toward  which  love  was  driving  Calyste. 

Calyste  to  Beatrix. 
"What  do  I  care  for  the  family  of  du  Guenic  in  such  times 
as  we  live  in,  dearest  Beatrix !     My  name  is  Beatrix,  the  hap- 


182  BEA  TRIX. 

piness  of  Beatrix  is  my  happiness,  her  life  is  my  life,  and  all 
my  fortune  is  in  her  heart.  Our  lands  have  been  in  pledge 
these  two  hundred  years,  and  may  remain  so  for  two  hundred 
more ;  our  farmers  have  them,  no  one  can  take  them  away. 
To  see  and  love  you  !     That  is  my  religion. 

"Marry!  The  idea  has  made  me  heartsick.  Are  there 
two  such  as  Beatrix  ?  I  will  marry  no  one  but  you ;  I  will 
wait  twenty  years  if  I  must ;  I  am  young,  and  you  will  always 
be  beautiful.  My  mother  is  a  saint,  and  it  is  not  for  me  to 
judge  her.  She  never  loved !  I  know  how  much  she  has 
lost,  and  what  sacrifices  she  has  made.  You,  Beatrix,  have 
taught  me  to  love  my  mother  better ;  she  dwells  in  my  heart 
with  you — there  will  never  be  any  one  else  ;  she  is  your  only 
rival.  Is  not  this  as  much  as  to  say  that  no  one  shares 
your  throne  ?  So  your  reassuring  letter  has  no  effect  on  my 
mind. 

"As  to  Camille,  you  have  only  to  give  me  a  hint,  and  I  will 
beg  her  to  tell  you  herself  that  I  do  not  love  her ;  she  is  the 
mother  of  my  intelligence ;  nothing  more,  nothing  less.  As 
soon  as  I  saw  you  she  became  a  sister  to  me,  my  friend — my 
man  friend — what  you  will ;  but  we  have  no  claims  on  each 
other  beyond  those  of  friendship.  I  thought  she  was  a  woman 
till  the  moment  when  I  first  saw  you.  But  you  show  me  that 
Camille  is  a  man ;  she  swims,  hunts,  rides ;  she  smokes  and 
drinks ;  she  writes,  she  can  analyze  a  book  or  a  heart ;  she  has 
not  the  smallest  weakness  ;  she  walks  on  in  her  strength  ;  she 
has  not  your  free  grace,  your  step  like  the  flight  of  a  bird, 
your  voice — the  voice  of  love — your  arch  looks,  your  gracious 
demeanor.  She  is  Camille  Maupin,  and  nothing  else  ;  she  has 
nothing  of  the  woman  about  her,  and  you  have  everything 
that  I  love  in  woman  ;  I  felt  from  the  day  when  I  first  saw 
you  that  you  were  mine. 

"You  will  laugh  at  this  feeling,  but  it  has  gone  on  in- 
creasing ;  it  strikes  me  as  monstrous  that  we  should  be  divided  ; 
you  are  my  soul,  my  life,  and  I  cannot  live  where  you  are 


BEATRIX.  183 

not.  Let  me  love  you !  We  will  fly,  we  will  go  far,  far  from 
the  world,  into  some  country  where  you  will  know  nobody, 
and  where  you  will  have  no  one  but  me  and  God  in  your 
heart.  My  mother,  who  loves  you,  will  come  some  day  to 
live  with  us.  Ireland  has  many  country  houses,  and  my 
mother's  family  will  surely  lend  us  one.  Great  God  !  Let  us 
be  off !  A  boat,  some  sailors,  and  we  shall  be  there  before 
any  one  can  guess  whither  we  have  fled  from  the  world  you 
dread  so  greatly. 

"  You  have  never  been  loved ;  I  feel  it  as  I  re-read  your 
letter,  and  I  fancy  I  can  perceive  that,  if  none  of  the  reasons 
of  which  you  speak  existed,  you  would  allow  yourself  to  be 
loved  by  me.     Beatrix,  a  holy  love  will  wipe  out  the  past. 

"Is  it  possible  in  your  presence  to  think  of  anything  but 
you  ?  Oh  !  I  love  so  much  that  I  could  wish  you  a  thousand 
times  disgraced,  so  as  to  prove  to  you  the  power  of  my  love 
by  adoring  you  as  if  you  were  the  holiest  of  creatures.  You 
call  my  love  for  you  an  insult.  Oh,  Beatrix,  you  do  not  think 
that !  The  love  of  *  a  noble  child ' — you  call  me  so — would 
do  honor  to  a  queen. 

"  So  to-morrow  we  will  wander  lover-like  along  by  the  rocks 
and  the  sea,  and  you  shall  tread  the  sands  of  old  Brittany  and 
consecrate  them  anew  for  me.  Give  me  that  day  of  joy,  and 
the  transient  alms — leaving  perhaps,  alas  !  no  trace  on  your 
memory — will  be  a  perennial  treasure  to  Calyste " 

The  Baroness  dropped  the  letter  unfinished  ;  she  knelt  on  a 
chair  and  put  up  a  silent  prayer  to  God,  imploring  Him  to  pre- 
serve her  son's  wits,  to  deliver  him  from  madness  and  error, 
and  snatch  him  back  from  the  ways  in  which  she  saw  him 
rushing. 

"What  are  you  doing,  mother?  "  said  Calyste's  voice. 

"  Praying  for  you,"  she  replied,  looking  at  him  with  eyes 
full  of  tears.  "  I  have  been  so  wrong  as  to  read  this  letter. 
My  Calyste  is  gone  mad." 


184  BEATRIX. 

**It  is  the  sweetest  form  of  madness,"  said  the  youth,  kiss- 
ing his  mother. 

**  I  should  like  to  see  this  woman,  my  child." 

"  Well,  mamma,  we  shall  take  a  boat  to-morrow  to  cross 
over  to  le  Croisic;  come  to  the  jetty." 

He  sealed  his  letter  and  went  off  to  les  Touches.  The 
thing  which  above  all  others  appalled  the  Baroness  was  to  see 
that,  by  sheer  force  of  instinct,  feeling  could  acquire  the  in- 
sight of  consummate  experience.  Calyste  had  written  to 
Beatrix  as  he  might  have  done  under  the  guidance  of  Monsieur 
du  Halga. 

One  of  the  greatest  joys,  perhaps,  that  a  small  mind  can 
know  is  that  of  duping  a  great  soul  and  catching  it  in  a  snare. 
Beatrix  knew  herself  to  be  very  inferior  to  Camille  Maupin. 
This  inferiority  was  not  merely  in  the  sum-total  of  intellectual 
qualities  known  as  talent,  but  also  in  those  qualities  of  the 
heart  that  are  called  passion.  At  the  moment  when  Calyste 
arrived  at  les  Touches,  with  the  impetuous  haste  of  first  love 
borne  on  the  pinions  of  hope,  the  Marquise  was  conscious  of 
keen  satisfaction  in  knowing  herself  to  be  loved  by  this  charm- 
ing youth.  She  did  not  go  so  far  as  to  wish  to  be  his  accom- 
plice in  this  feeling ;  she  made  it  a  point  of  heroism  to  repress 
this  capriccio,  as  the  Italians  say,  and  fancied  she  would  thus 
be  on  a  par  with  her  friend ;  she  was  happy  to  be  able  to 
make  her  some  sacrifice.  In  short,  the  vanities  peculiar  to  a 
Frenchwoman,  which  constitute  the  famous  coquetterie  whence 
she  derives  her  superiority,  were  in  her  flattered  and  amply 
satisfied ;  she  was  tempted  by  the  utmost  seduction,  and  she 
resisted  it ;  her  virtues  sang  a  sweet  concert  of  praise  in  her  ear. 

The  two  women,  apparently  indolent,  were  lounging  on  the 
divan  in  that  little  drawing-room  so  full  of  harmony,  in  the 
midst  of  a  world  of  flowers,  with  the  window  open,  for  the 
north  winds  had  ceased  to  blow.  A  melting  southerly  breeze 
dimpled  the  salt-water  lake  that  they  could  see  in  front  of 


BEATRIX.  185 

them,  and  the  sun  scorched  the  golden  sands.  Their  spirits 
were  as  deeply  tossed  as  nature  lay  calm,  and  not  less  burning. 
Camille,  broken  on  the  wheel  of  the  machinery  she  was  work- 
ing, was  obliged  to  keep  a  guard  over  herself,  the  friendly  foe 
she  had  admitted  into  her  cage  was  so  prodigiously  keen ;  not 
to  betray  her  secret  she  gave  herself  up  to  observing  the  secrets 
of  nature ;  she  cheated  her  pain  by  seeking  a  meaning  in  the 
motions  of  the  spheres,  and  found  God  in  the  sublime  solitude 
of  the  sky. 

When  once  an  infidel  acknowledges  God,  he  throws  him- 
self headlong  into  Catholicism,  which,  viewed  as  a  system,  is 
perfect. 

That  morning  Camille  had  shown  the  Marquise  a  face  still 
radiant  with  the  light  of  her  research,  carried  on  during  a 
night  spent  in  lamentation.  Calyste  was  always  before  her 
like  a  heavenly  vision.  She  regarded  this  beautiful  youth,  to 
whom  she  devoted  herself,  as  her  guardian  angel.  Was  it  not 
he  who  was  leading  her  to  the  supernal  regions  where  suffer- 
ings have  an  end  under  the  weight  of  incomprehensible  im- 
mensity? Still,  Camille  was  made  uneasy  by  Beatrix's  tri- 
umphant looks.  One  woman  does  not  gain  such  an  advantage 
over  another  without  allowing  it  to  be  guessed,  while  justifying 
herself  for  having  taken  it.  Nothing  could  be  stranger  than 
this  covert  moral  struggle  between  the  two  friends,  each  hiding 
a  secret  from  the  other,  and  each  believing  herself  to  be  the 
creditor  for  unspoken  sacrifices. 

Calyste  arrived  holding  his  letter  under  his  glove,  ready  to 
slip  it  into  Beatrix's  hand.  Camille,  who  had  not  failed  to 
mark  the  change  in  her  guest's  manner,  affected  not  to  look 
at  her,  but  studied  her  in  a  mirror  just  when  Calyste  made  his 
entrance.  That  is  the  sunken  rock  for  every  woman.  The 
cleverest  and  the  most  stupid,  the  most  frank  and  the  most 
astute,  are  not  then  mistress  of  their  secret ;  at  that  moment 
it  blazes  out  to  another  woman's  eyes.  Too  much  reserve  or 
too  much  freedom,  an  open  and  a  beaming  glance,  or  a  mys- 


186  BEATRIX. 

terious  droop  of  the  eyelids — everything  then  reveals  the  feel- 
ing above  all  others  difficult  to  conceal,  for  indifference  is  so 
absolutely  cold  that  it  can  never  be  well  acted.  Women  have 
the  genius  of  shades  of  manner — they  use  them  too  often  not 
to  know  them  all — and  on  these  occasions  they  take  in  a  rival 
from  head  to  foot  at  a  glance ;  they  see  the  slightest  twitch 
of  a  foot  under  a  petticoat,  the  most  imperceptible  start  in  the 
figure,  and  know  the  meaning  of  what  to  a  man  seems  to  have 
none.  Two  women  watching  one  another  play  one  of  the 
finest  comedies  to  be  seen. 

"  Calyste  has  committed  some  folly,"  thought  Camille, 
observing  in  both  of  them  the  indefinable  look  of  persons  who 
understand  each  other. 

There  was  no  formality  or  affected  indifference  in  the  Mar- 
quise now ;  she  looked  at  Calyste  as  if  he  belonged  to  her. 
Calyste  explained  matters ;  he  reddened  like  a  guilty  creature, 
like  a  happy  lover.  He  had  just  settled  everything  for  their 
excursion  on  the  morrow. 

"  Then  you  are  really  going,  my  dear  ?  "  said  Camille. 

"Yes,"  said  Beatrix. 

*'  How  did  you  know  that  ? ' '  said  Mademoiselle  des  Touches 
to  Calyste. 

*'  I  have  come  to  ask,"  he  replied,  at  a  glance  shot  at  him 
by  Madame  de  Rochefide,  who  did  not  wish  her  friend  to 
have  any  suspicion  of  their  correspondence. 

"They  have  already  come  to  an  understanding,"  said  Ca- 
mille to  herself,  catching  this  look  by  a  side-glance  from  the 
corner  of  her  eye.  "It  is  all  over;  there  is  nothing  left  to 
me  but  to  disappear." 

And  under  the  pressure  of  this  thought,  a  deathlike  change 
passed  over  her  face  that  gave  Beatrix  a  chill. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  dear  ?  "  said  she. 

"  Nothing.  Then,  Calyste,  will  you  send  on  my  horses 
and  yours  so  that  we  may  find  them  ready  on  the  other  side 
of  le  Croisic  and  ride  back  through  le  Bourg  de  Batz?     We 


BEATRIX.  187 

will  breakfast  at  le  Croisic  and  dine  here.  You  will  under- 
take to  find  boatmen.  We  will  start  at  half-past  eight  in 
the  morning.  Such  fine  scenery!"  she  added  to  Beatrix. 
"You  will  see  Cambremer,  a  man  who  is  doing  penance  on  a 
rock  for  having  murdered  his  son.  Oh  !  you  are  in  a  primi- 
tive land  where  men  do  not  feel  like  the  common  herd. 
Calyste  will  tell  you  the  story." 

She  went  into  her  room  ;  she  was  stifling.  Calyste  deliv- 
ered his  letter  and  followed  Camille. 

**  Calyste,  she  loves  you,  I  believe ;  but  you  are  hiding 
something  ;  you  have  certainly  disobeyed  my  injunctions." 

**  She  loves  me  !  "  said  he,  dropping  into  a  chair. 

Camille  looked  out  at  the  door.  Beatrix  had  vanished. 
This  was  strange.  A  woman  does  not  fly  from  a  room  where 
the  man  is  whom  she  loves  and  whom  she  is  certain  to  see 
again,  unless  she  has  something  better  to  do.  Mademoiselle 
des  Touches  asked  herself,  "  Can  she  have  a  letter  from  Ca- 
lyste ?  "  But  she  thought  the  innocent  lad  incapable  of  such 
audacity. 

**  If  you  have  disobeyed  me,  all  is  lost  by  your  own 
fault,"  said  she  gravely.  "Go  and  prepare  for  the  joys  of 
to-morrow." 

She  dismissed  him  with  a  gesture  which  Calyste  could  not 
rebel  against.  There  are  silent  sorrows  that  are  despotically 
eloquent.  As  he  went  to  le  Croisic  to  find  the  boatmen,  Ca- 
lyste had  some  qualms  of  fear.  Camille's  speech  bore  a  stamp 
of  doom  that  revealed  the  foresight  of  a  mother. 

Four  hours  later,  when  he  returned,  very  tired,  counting  on 
dining  at  les  Touches,  he  was  met  at  the  door  by  Camille's 
maid,  who  told  him  that  her  mistress  and  the  Marquise  could 
not  see  him  this  evening.  Calyste  was  surprised,  and  wanted 
to  question  the  maid,  but  she  shut  the  door  and  vanished. 

Six  o'clock  was  striking  by  the  clocks  of  Guerande.  Ca- 
lyste went  home,  asked  for  some  dinner,  and  then  played 
tnouche,  a  prey  to  gloomy  meditations.     These  alternations  of 


188  BE  A  TRIX. 

joy  and  grief,  the  overthrow  of  his  hopes  following  hard 
upon  what  seemed  the  certainty  that  he  was  loved,  crushed 
the  young  soul  that  had  been  soaring  heavenward  to  the  sky, 
and  had  risen  so  high  that  the  fall  must  be  tremendous. 

"What  ails  you,  my  Calyste  ?  "  his  mother  whispered  to 
him. 

"  Nothing,"  said  he,  looking  at  her  with  eyes  whence  the 
light  of  his  soul  and  the  flame  of  love  had  died  out. 

It  is  not  hope  but  despair  that  gives  the  measure  of  our 
ambitions.  We  give  ourselves  over  in  secret  to  the  beautiful 
poems  of  hope,  while  grief  shows  itself  unveiled. 

"Calyste,  you  are  not  at  all  nice,"  said  Charlotte,  after 
vainly  wasting  on  him  those  little  provincial  teasing  ways 
which  always  degenerate  into  annoyance. 

"I  am  tired,"  he  said,  rising  and  bidding  the  party  good- 
night. 

"Calyste  is  much  altered,"  said  Mademoiselle  de  Pen- 
Hoel. 

^^We  haven't  fine  gowns  covered  with  lace;  we  don't 
flourish  our  sleeves  like  this  ;  we  don't  sit  so,  or  know  how  to 
look  on  one  side  and  wriggle  our  heads,"  said  Charlotte, 
imitating  and  caricaturing  the  Marquise's  airs  and  attitude 
and  looks.  "  We  haven't  a  voice  with  a  squeak  in  the  head, 
or  a  little  interesting  cough,  heugh  !  heugh  !  like  the  sigh  of 
a  ghost ;  we  are  so  unfortunate  as  to  have  robust  health, 
and  be  fond  of  our  friends  without  any  nonsense ;  when 
we  look  at  them  we  do  not  seem  to  be  stabbing  them 
with  a  dart,  or  examining  them  with  a  hypocritical  glance. 
We  don't  know  how  to  droop  our  heads  like  a  weeping  wil- 
low, and  appear  quite  aff"able  merely  by  raising  it,  so  !  " 

Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel  could  not  help  laughing  at  her 
niece's  performance ;  but  neither  the  chevalier  nor  the  Baron 
understood  this  satire  of  the  country  on  Paris. 

"But  the  Marquise  de  Rochefide  is  very  handsome,"  said 
the  old  lady. 


BEATRIX.  189 

**My  dear,"  said  the  Baroness  to  her  husband,  **I  happen 
to  know  that  she  is  going  to-morrow  to  le  Croisic ;  we  will 
walk  down  there.     I  should  very  much  like  to  meet  her." 

While  Calyste  was  racking  his  brain  to  divine  why  the  door 
of  les  Touches  should  have  been  closed  in  his  face,  a  scene 
was  taking  place  between  the  two  friends  which  was  to  have 
its  effect  on  the  events  of  the  morrow.  Calyste's  letter  had 
given  birth  to  unknown  emotions  in  Madame  de  Rochefide's 
heart.  A  woman  is  not  often  the  object  of  a  passion  so  youth- 
ful, so  guileless,  so  sincere  and  absolute  as  was  this  boy's. 
Beatrix  had  loved  more  than  she  had  been  loved.  After 
being  a  slave  she  felt  an  unaccountable  longing  to  be  the 
tyrant  in  her  turn. 

In  the  midst  of  her  joy,  as  she  read  and  re-read  Calyste's 
letter,  a  cruel  thought  pierced  her  like  a  stab.  What  had 
Calyste  and  Camille  been  about  together  since  Claud  Vignon's 
departure?  If  Calyste  did  not  love  Camille,  and  Camille 
knew  it,  what  did  they  do  in  those  long  mornings?  The 
memory  of  her  brain  insidiously  compared  this  remark  with 
all  Camille  had  said.  It  was  as  though  a  smiling  devil  held 
up  before  her,  as  in  a  mirror,  the  portrait  of  her  heroic  friend, 
with  certain  looks,  certain  gestures,  which  finally  enlightened 
Beatrix.  Far  from  being  Felicite's  equal,  she  was  crushed  by 
her;  far  from  deceiving  her,  it  was  she  who  was  deceived; 
she  herself  was  but  a  toy  that  Camille  wanted  to  give  the 
child  she  loved  with  an  extraordinary  and  never  vulgar 
passion. 

To  a  woman  like  Beatrix  this  discovery  was  a  thunderbolt. 
She  recalled  every  detail  of  the  past  week.  In  an  instant 
Camille's  part  and  her  own  lay  before  her  in  their  fullest 
development ;  she  saw  herself  strangely  abased.  In  the  rush 
of  her  jealous  hatred  she  fancied  she  detected  in  Camille  some 
plot  of  revenge  on  Conti.  All  the  events  of  the  past  two 
years  had  perhaps  led  up  to  these  two  weeks.  Once  started 
on  the  downward  slope  of  suspicions,  hypotheses,  and  anger, 


190  BEATRIX. 

Beatrix  did  not  check  herself;  she  walked  up  and  down  her 
rooms,  spurred  by  impulses  of  passion,  or,  sitting  down  now 
and  again,  tried  to  make  a  plan ;  still,  until  the  dinner-hour, 
she  remained  a  prey  to  indecision,  and  only  went  down  when 
dinner  was  served  without  changing  her  dress. 

On  seeing  her  rival  come  in,  Camille  guessed  everything. 
Beatrix,  in  morning  dress,  had  a  cold  look  and  an  expression 
of  reserve,  which  to  an  observer  so  keen  as  Camille  betrayed 
the  animosity  of  embittered  feelings.  Camille  immediately 
left  the  room  and  gave  the  order  that  had  so  greatly  astonished 
Calyste ;  she  thought  that  if  the  guileless  lad,  with  his  insane 
adoration,  came  into  the  middle  of  the  quarrel  he  might  never 
see  Beatrix  again,  and  compromise  the  future  of  his  passion  by 
some  foolish  bluntness.  She  meant  to  fight  out  this  duel  of 
dupery  without  any  witness.  Beatrix,  with  no  one  to  uphold 
her,  must  certainly  yield.  Camille  knew  how  shallow  her 
soul  was,  and  how  mean  her  pride,  to  which  she  had  justly 
given  the  name  of  obstinacy. 

The  dinner  was  gloomy.  Both  the  women  had  too  much 
spirit  and  good  taste  to  have  any  explanation  before  the 
servants,  or  when  they  might  listen  at  the  doors.  Camille 
was  gentle  and  kind ;  she  felt  herself  so  much  the  superior ! 
The  Marquise  was  hard  and  biting ;  she  knew  she  was  being 
fooled  like  a  child.  There  was,  all  through  dinner,  a  warfare 
of  looks,  shrugs,  half-spoken  words,  to  which  the  servants 
could  have  no  clue,  but  which  gave  warning  of  a  terrible 
storm.  When  they  were  going  upstairs  again  Camille  mis- 
chievously offered  Beatrix  her  arm  ;  the  Marquise  affected  not 
to  see,  and  rushed  forward  alone.  As  soon  as  coffee  was 
served,  Mademoiselle  des  Touches  said  to  her  servant,  "You 
can  go,"  and  this  was  the  signal  for  battle. 

"  The  romances  you  act  out,  my  dear,  are  rather  more 
dangerous  than  those  you  write,"  said  the  Marquise. 

"They  have,  however,  one  great  merit,"  said  Camille, 
taking  a  cigarette. 


BEATRIX.  191 

**  What  is  that  ?  "  asked  Beatrix. 

"They  are  unpublished,  my  angel." 

"  Will  that  in  which  you  have  plunged  me  make  a  book? " 

**I  have  no  genius  for  the  task  of  CEdipus;  you  have  the 
wit  and  beauty  of  the  sphinx,  I  know,  but  do  not  ask  me  any 
riddles;  speak  out,  my  dear  Beatrix." 

"When  in  order  to  make  men  happy,  to  amuse  them,  please 
them,  dispel  their  annoyances,  we  appeal  to  the  devil  himself 
to  help  us " 

"  The  men  blame  us  afterward  for  our  endeavor,  and  be- 
lieve it  to  be  dictated  by  a  spirit  of  depravity,"  said  Camille, 
taking  her  cigarette  from  her  lips  to  interrupt  her  friend. 

"  They  forget  the  love  which  carried  us  away,  and  which 
justified  our  excesses — for  whither  may  we  not  be  carried? 
But  they  are  only  playing  out  their  part  as  men,  they  are  un- 
grateful and  unjust,"  said  Beatrix.  "Women  know  each 
other ;  they  know  how  truly  lofty  and  noble  their  attitude  is 
under  all  circumstances — nay,  I  may  say,  how  virtuous. 

"  Still,  Camille,  I  have  begun  to  perceive  the  truth  of  cer- 
tain remarks  I  have  heard  you  complain  of.  Yes,  my  dear, 
there  is  something  of  the  man  in  you ;  you  behave  like  men  ; 
nothing  checks  you ;  and  if  you  have  not  all  their  merits  your 
mind  conducts  itself  like  theirs,  and  you  share  their  contempt 
for  us  women.  I  have  no  reason  to  be  pleased  with  you,  my 
dear,  and  I  am  too  frank  to  conceal  the  fact.  Nobody,  per- 
haps, will  ever  inflict  so  deep  a  wound  on  my  heart  as  that  I 
am  now  suffering  from.  Though  you  are  not  always  a  woman 
in  love  matters,  you  become  one  again  in  revenge.  Only  a 
woman  of  genius  could  have  discovered  the  tenderest  spot  in 
our  delicate  sentiments — I  am  speaking  of  Calyste,  and  of  the 
trickery,  my  dear,  for  that  is  the  right  word,  that  you  have 
employed  against  me.  How  low  you  have  fallen,  you,  Camille 
Maupin  ;  and  to  what  end?  " 

"Still  and  still  more  the  sphinx,"  said  Camille,  smiling. 

"  You  wanted  to  make  me  throw  myself  at  Calyste's  head ; 


192  BEATRIX. 

I  am  still  too  young  for  such  doings.  To  me  love  is 
love,  with  its  intolerable  jealousy  and  despotic  demands.  I 
am  not  a  writer;  it  is  not  possible  to  me  to  find  ideas  in 
feelings " 

"  You  think  yourself  capable  of  loving  foolishly  ?  "  Camilla 
asked  her.  "  Be  quite  easy,  you  still  have  all  your  wits  about 
you.  You  malign  yourself,  my  dear ;  you  are  cold  enough  for 
your  head  always  to  remain  supreme  judge  of  the  achieve- 
ments of  your  heart." 

This  epigram  brought  the  color  to  the  Marquise's  face;  she 
shot  a  look  full  of  hatred,  an  envenomed  look,  at  Camilla ; 
and  at  once,  without  stopping  to  choose  them,  let  fly  all  the 
sharpest  arrows  in  her  quiver.  Camille,  smoking  her  cigarettes, 
listened  calmly  to  this  furious  attack,  bristling  with  such  viru- 
lent abuse  that  it  is  impossible  to  record  it.  Beatrix,  provoked 
by  her  adversary's  imperturbable  manner,  fell  back  on  odious 
personalities  and  Mademoiselle  des  Touches'  age. 

"  Is  that  all?  "  asked  Camille,  blowing  a  cloud  of  smoke. 
"Are  you  in  love  with  Calyste  ?  " 

**  Certainly  not." 

"So  much  the  better,"  replied  Camille.  "I  am,  and  far 
too  much  for  my  happiness.  He  has,  no  doubt,  a  fancy  for 
you.  You  are  the  loveliest  blonde  in  the  world,  and  I  am  as 
brown  as  a  mole ;  you  are  slim  and  slender,  my  figure  is  too 
dignified.  In  short,  you  are  young ;  that  is  the  great  fact, 
and  you  have  not  spared  me.  You  have  made  an  abuse  of 
your  advantages  over  me  as  a  woman,  neither  more  nor  less 
than  as  a  comic  paper  makes  an  abuse  of  humor.  I  have  done 
all  in  my  power  to  prevent  what  is  now  inevitable,"  and  she 
raised  her  eyes  to  the  ceiling.  "However  little  I  may  seem 
to  be  a  woman,  I  still  have  enough  of  the  woman  in  me  for  a 
rival  to  need  my  help  in  order  to  triumph  over  me  !  "  This 
cruel  speech,  uttered  with  an  air  of  perfect  innocence,  went 
to  the  Marquise's  heart.  "  You  must  think  me  a  very  idiotic 
person  if  you  believe  all  that  Calyste  tries  to  make  you  believe 


BEATRIX.  198 

about  me.  I  am  neither  lofty  nor  mean ;  I  am  a  woman,  and 
very  much  a  woman.  Throw  off  your  airs  and  give  me  your 
hand,"  said  Camille,  taking  possession  of  Beatrix's  hand. 
"  You  do  not  love  Calyste,  that  is  the  truth — is  it  not?  Then 
do  not  get  in  a  rage  !  Be  stern  with  him  to-morrow,  cold  and 
hard,  and  he  will  end  by  submitting  after  the  scolding  I  shall 
give  him,  for  I  have  not  exhausted  the  resources  of  our  arsenal, 
and,  after  all,  pleasure  always  gets  the  better  of  desire. 

**  But  Calyste  is  a  Breton.  If  he  persists  in  paying  you  his 
addresses,  tell  me  honestly,  and  you  can  go  at  once  to  a 
little  country-house  of  mine  at  six  leagues  from  Paris,  where 
you  will  find  every  comfort,  and  where  Conti  can  join  you. 
If  Calyste  slanders  me  !  Why,  good  heavens  !  The  purest 
love  lies  six  times  a  day ;  its  illusions  prove  its  strength." 

There  was  a  proud  coldness  in  Camille's  expression  that 
made  the  Marquise  uneasy  and  afraid.  She  did  not  know 
what  answer  to  make. 

Camille  struck  the  final  blow. 

"I  am  more  trusting  and  less  bitter  than  you,"  she  went 
on.  "I  do  not  imagine  that  you  intended  to  hide  under 
recrimination  an  attack  which  would  imperil  my  life;  you 
know  me ;  I  should  not  survive  the  loss  of  Calyste,  and  I 
must  lose  him  sooner  or  later.  But,  indeed,  Calyste  loves 
me,  and  I  know  it." 

"  Here  is  his  answer  to  a  letter  from  me  in  which  I  wrote 
only  of  you,"  said  Beatrix,  holding  out  Calyste's  letter. 

Camille  took  it  and  read  it.  As  she  read  her  eyes  filled 
with  tears ;  she  wept,  as  all  women  weep  in  acute  suffering. 

"  Good  God  !  "  said  she.  "  He  loves  her !  Then  I  must 
die  without  ever  having  been  understood  or  loved  !  " 

She  sat  for  some  minutes  with  her  head  resting  on  her 
friend's  shoulder ;  her  pain  was  genuine ;  she  felt  in  her  own 
soul  the  same  terrible  blow  that  Madame  du  Gu6nic  had  re- 
ceived on  reading  this  letter. 

"  Do  you  love  him?"  said  she,  sitting  up  and  looking  at 
13 


194  BEATRIX. 

Beatrix.  **  Do  you  feel  for  him  that  infinite  devotion  which 
triumphs  over  all  suffering  and  survives  scorn,  betrayal,  even 
the  certainty  of  never  being  loved  again  ?  Do  you  love  him 
for  himself,  for  the  very  joy  of  loving?  " 

"My  dearest  friend!"  said  the  Marquise,  much  moved. 
**  Well,  be  content,  I  will  leave  to-morrow." 

**  Do  not  go  away ;  he  loves  you,  I  see  it !  And  I  love  him 
so  well  that  I  should  be  in  despair  if  I  saw  him  miserable  and 
unhappy.  I  had  dreamed  of  many  things  for  him ;  but  if  he 
loves  you,  that  is  all  at  an  end." 

"Yes,  Camille,  I  love  him,"  said  the  Marquise  with  de- 
lightful simplicity,  but  coloring. 

"  You  love  him,  and  you  can  resist  him  !  "  cried  Camille. 
"  No,  you  do  not  love  him  !  " 

**  I  do  not  know  what  new  virtues  he  has  aroused  in  me, 
but  he  has  certainly  made  me  ashamed  of  myself,"  said 
Beatrix.  "  I  could  wish  to  be  virtuous  and  free,  so  as  to 
have  something  else  to  sacrifice  to  him  beside  the  remnants 
of  a  heart  and  disgraceful  bonds.  I  will  not  accept  an  incom- 
plete destiny  either  for  him  or  for  myself." 

"  Cold  brain  !  it  can  love  and  calculate  !  "  cried  Camille, 
with  a  sort  of  horror. 

"  Whatever  you  please,  but  I  will  not  blight  his  life  or  be 
a  stone  round  his  neck,  an  everlasting  regret.  As  I  cannot 
be  his  wife,  I  will  not  be  his  mistress.  He  has — you  will  not 
laugh  at  me  ?  No  ?  Well,  then,  his  beautiful  love  has  puri- 
fied me." 

Camille  gave  Beatrix  a  look — the  wildest,  fiercest  look  that 
ever  a  jealous  woman  flung  at  her  rival. 

"On  that  ground,"  said  she,  "I  fancied  I  stood  alone. 
Beatrix,  that  speech  has  parted  us  for  ever ;  we  are  no  longer 
friends.  We  are  at  the  beginning  of  a  hideous  struggle. 
Now,  I  tell  you  plainly,  you  must  succumb  or  fly." 

Felicite  rushed  away  into  her  own  room  after  showing  to 
Beatrix,  who  was  amazed,  a  face  like  an  infuriated  lioness. 


BEATRIX.  196 

**  Are  you  coming  to  le  Croisic  to-morrow  ?  "  said  Camille, 
lifting  the  curtain. 

"  Certainly,"  said  the  Marquise  loftily  ;  "  I  will  not  fly — 
nor  will  I  succumb." 

"I  play  with  my  hand  on  the  table,"  retorted  Camille;  "I 
shall  write  to  Conti." 

Beatrix  turned  as  white  as  her  gauze  scarf. 

**For  each  of  us  life  is  at  stake,"  replied  Beatrix,  who  did 
not  know  what  to  decide  on. 

The  violent  passions  to  which  this  scene  had  given  rise  be- 
tween the  two  women  subsided  during  the  night.  They  both 
reasoned  with  themselves  and  came  back  to  a  reliance  on  the 
perfidious  temporizing  which  fascinates  most  women — an  ex- 
cellent system  between  them  and  men,  but  a  bad  one  between 
woman  and  woman.  It  was  in  the  midst  of  this  last  storm 
that  Mademoiselle  des  Touches  heard  the  great  voice  which 
dominates  even  the  bravest.  Beatrix  listened  to  the  counsels 
of  worldly  wisdom  ;  she  feared  the  contempt  of  society.  So 
Felicite's  last  master-stroke,  weighted  with  the  accents  of  in- 
tense jealousy,  was  perfectly  successful.  Calyste's  blunder 
was  remedied,  but  any  fresh  mistake  might  ruin  his  hopes  for- 
ever. 

The  month  of  August  was  drawing  to  a  close,  the  sky  was 
magnificently  clear.  On  the  horizon  the  ocean,  like  a  southern 
sea,  had  a  hue  as  of  molten  silver,  and  fluttered  to  the  strand 
in  sparkling  ripples.  A  sort  of  glistening  vapor,  produced 
by  the  sun's  rays  falling  directly  on  the  sand,  made  an  atmos- 
phere at  least  equal  to  that  of  the  tropics.  The  salt  blos- 
somed into  little  white  stars  on  the  surface  of  the  salt-pans. 
The  laborious  marshmen,  dressed  in  white  on  purpose  to  defy 
the  heat  of  the  sun,  were  at  their  post  by  daybreak  armed 
with  their  long  rakes,  some  leaning  against  the  mud-walls 
dividing  the  plots,  and  watching  this  process  of  natural  chem- 
istry, familiar  to  them  from  their  infancy;  others  playing  with 


196  BEATRIX. 

their  little  ones  and  wives.  Those  green  dragons  called  ex- 
cisemen smoked  their  pipes  in  peace.  There  was  something 
Oriental  in  the  picture,  and  certainly  a  Parisian,  suddenly 
dropped  there,  would  not  have  believed  that  he  was  in  France. 

The  Baron  and  Baroness,  who  had  made  a  pretext  of  their 
wish  to  see  how  the  salt-raking  was  going  on,  were  on  the 
jetty,  admiring  the  silent  scene,  where  no  sound  was  to  be 
heard  but  the  sea  moaning  with  regular  rhythm,  where  boats 
cut  through  the  water,  and  the  green  belt  of  cultivated  land 
was  all  the  more  lovely  in  its  effect  because  it  is  so  uncommon 
on  the  desert  shores  of  the  ocean. 

**  Well,  my  friends,  I  shall  have  seen  the  marshes  of  Guer- 
ande  once  more  before  I  die,"  said  the  Baron  to  the  marsh- 
men,  who  stood  in  groups  at  the  fringe  of  the  marsh  to  greet 
him. 

"As  if  the  du  Guenics  died  !  "  said  one  of  the  men. 

At  this  moment  the  little  party  from  les  Touches  came 
down  the  narrow  road.  The  Marquise  led  the  way  alone, 
Calyste  and  Camille  followed  arm  in  arm.  About  twenty 
yards  behind  them  came  Gasselin. 

**  There  are  my  father  and  mother,"  said  Calyste  to  Camille. 

The  Marquise  stopped.  Madame  du  Guenic  felt  the  most 
vehement  repulsion  at  the  sight  of  Beatrix,  though  she  was 
dressed  to  advantage,  in  a  broad-brimmed  Leghorn  hat 
trimmed  with  blue  cornflowers,  her  hair  waved  beneath  it ;  a 
dress  of  gray  linen  stuff,  and  a  blue  sash  with  long  ends ;  in 
short,  the  garb  of  a  princess  disguised  as  a  shepherdess. 

**  She  has  no  heart !  "  said  Fanny  to  herself. 

"Mademoiselle,"  said  Calyste  to  Camille,  "here  are 
Madame  du  Gu6nic  and  my  father." 

Then  he  added  to  his  parents — 

"  Mademoiselle  des  Touches  and  Madame  la  Marquise  de 
Rochefide,  nee  de  Casteran — my  father." 

The  Baron  bowed  to  Mademoiselle  des  Touches,  who  bowed 
with  an  air  of  humble  gratitude  to  the  Baroness. 


BEATRIX.  197 

"She,"  thought  the  observant  Fanny,  "really  loves  my 
boy;  she  seems  to  be  thanking  me  for  having  brought  him 
into  the  world," 

"  You,  like  me,  are  come  to  see  if  the  yield  is  good  ;  but 
you  have  more  reasons  than  I  for  curiosity,  mademoiselle," 
said  the  Baron  to  Camille,  "  for  you  have  property  here." 

"  Mademoiselle  is  the  richest  owner  of  them  all,"  said  one 
of  the  marshmen  ;  "  and  God  preserve  her,  for  she  is  a  very 
good  lady !  " 

The  two  parties  bowed  and  went  their  way. 

"You  would  never  suppose  Mademoiselle  des  Touches  to 
be  more  than  thirty,"  said  the  good  man  to  his  wife.  "  She 
is  very  handsome.  And  Calyste  prefers  that  jade  of  a  Parisian 
Marquise  to  that  good  daughter  of  Brittany  ?  " 

"Alas,  yes  !  "  said  the  Baroness. 

A  boat  was  lying  at  the  end  of  the  jetty ;  they  got  in,  but 
not  in  high  spirits.  Beatrix  was  cold  and  dignified.  Camille 
had  scolded  Calyste  for  his  disobedience  and  explained  to 
him  the  position  of  his  love  affair.  Calyste,  sunk  in  gloomy 
despair,  cast  eyes  at  Beatrix,  in  which  love  and  hatred  strug- 
gled for  the  upper  hand. 

Not  a  word  was  spoken  during  the  short  passage  from  the 
jetty  of  Guerande  to  the  extreme  point  of  the  harbor  of  le 
Croisic,  the  spot  where  the  salt  is  shipped,  being  brought  down 
to  the  shore  by  women,  in  large  earthen  crocks,  which  they 
carry  on  their  heads,  holding  them  in  such  a  way  as  to  look 
like  caryatides.  These  women  are  barefoot  and  wear  a  very 
short  skirt.  Many  of  them  leave  the  kerchief  that  covers 
their  shoulders  to  fly  loose,  and  several  wear  only  a  shift,  and 
are  the  proudest,  for  the  less  clothes  they  wear  the  more  they 
display  their  modest  beauties. 

The  little  Danish  bark  was  taking  in  her  cargo.  Thus  the 
landing  of  these  two  beautiful  ladies  excited  the  curiosity  of 
the  salt-carriers  ;  and  partly  to  escape  them,  as  well  as  to  do 
Calyste  a  service,  Camille  hurried  on  toward  the  rocks,  leav- 


198  BEATRIX. 

ing  him  with  Beatrix.  Gasselin  lingered  at  least  two  hundred 
yards  behind  his  master. 

On  the  seaward  side  the  peninsula  of  le  Croisic  is  fringed 
with  granite  rocks  so  singularly  grotesque  in  form  that  they 
can  only  be  appreciated  by  travelers  who  are  able  from  ex- 
perience to  make  comparisons  between  the  different  grand 
spectacles  of  wild  nature.  The  rocks  of  le  Croisic  have,  per- 
haps, the  same  superiority  over  other  similar  scenes  that  the 
road  to  the  Grande  Chartreuse  is  admitted  to  have  over  other 
narrow  gorges.  Neither  the  Corsican  shore,  where  the  granite 
forms  very  remarkable  reefs,  nor  that  of  Sardinia,  where  nature 
has  reveled  in  grand  and  terrible  effects,  nor  the  basaltic 
formations  of  northern  seas,  have  quite  so  distinctive  a  char- 
acter. Fancy  seems  to  have  disported  itself  there  in  endless 
arabesques,  where  the  most  grotesque  shapes  mingle  or  stand 
forth.  Every  form  may  be  seen  there.  Imagination  may, 
perhaps,  be  weary  of  this  vast  collection  of  monsters,  among 
which,  in  furious  weather,  the  sea  rushes  in,  and  has  at  last 
polished  down  all  the  rough  edges. 

Under  a  natural  vault,  arched  with  a  boldness  only  faintly 
imitated  by  Brunelleschi — for  the  greatest  efforts  of  art  are 
but  a  timid  counterpart  of  some  work  of  nature — you  will 
find  a  basin  polished  like  a  marble  bath  and  strewn  with 
smooth,  fine  white  sand,  in  which  you  may  bathe  in  safety  in 
four  feet  of  tepid  water.  As  you  walk  on  you  admire  the  cool 
little  creeks,  under  shelter  of  porticoes  rough-hewn  but  stately, 
like  those  of  the  Pitti  palace — another  imitation  of  the  freaks 
of  nature.  The  variety  is  infinite  ;  nothing  is  lacking  that 
the  most  extravagant  fancy  could  invent  or  wish  for. 

There  is  even  a  large  shrub  of  box,*  a  thing  so  rare  on 
the  shore  of  the  Atlantic  that  perhaps  this  is  the  only  speci- 
men. This  box-shrub,  the  greatest  curiosity  in  le  Croisic, 
where  trees  cannot  grow,  is  at  about  a  league  from  the  port, 
on  the  utmost  headland  of  the  coast.     On  one  of  the  promon- 

*  Buii,  "  whence  (says  Balzac)  the  word  buisson"  shrub  or  bush. 


BEATRIX.  199 

tories  formed  by  the  granite,  rising  so  high  above  the  sea  that 
the  waves  cannot  reach  it  even  in  the  wildest  storms,  and 
facing  the  south,  the  floods  have  worn  a  hollow  shelf  about 
four  feet  deep.  In  this  cleft,  chance,  or  perhaps  man,  has 
deposited  soil  enough  to  enable  a  box,  sown  by  some  bird,  to 
grow  thick  and  closely  shorn.  The  gnarled  roots  would  indi- 
cate an  age  of  at  least  three  hundred  years.  Below  it  the 
rock  falls  sheer. 

Some  shock,  of  which  the  traces  are  stamped  in  indelible 
characters  on  this  coast,  has  swept  off  the  fragments  of  granite 
I  know  not  whither.  The  sea  comes,  without  breaking  over 
any  shoals,  to  the  bottom  of  this  cliff,  where  the  water  is  more 
than  five  hundred  feet  deep.  On  either  hand  some  reefs,  just 
beneath  the  surface,  form  a  sort  of  large  cirque,  traceable  by 
the  foaming  breakers.  It  needs  some  courage  and  resolution 
to  climb  to  the  top  of  this  little  Gibraltar ;  its  cap  is  almost 
spherical,  and  a  gust  of  wind  might  carry  the  inquirer  into 
the  sea,  or,  which  would  be  worse,  on  to  the  rocks  below. 
This  giant  sentinel  is  like  the  lantern  towers  of  old  chateaux, 
whence  miles  of  country  could  be  scanned  and  attacks  guarded 
against ;  from  its  height  are  seen  the  steeple  and  the  thrifty 
fields  of  le  Croisic,  the  sand-hills  that  threaten  to  encroach  on 
the  arable  land,  and  which  have  invaded  the  neighborhood 
of  le  Bourg  de  Batz.  Some  old  men  declare  that  there  was, 
long  ago,  a  castle  on  this  spot.  The  sardine  fishers  have  a 
name  for  this  headland,  which  can  be  seen  from  afar  at  sea; 
but  I  must  be  forgiven  for  having  forgotten  that  Breton  name, 
as  hard  to  pronounce  as  it  is  to  remember. 

Calyste  led  Beatrix  toward  this  height,  whence  the  view  is 
superb,  and  where  the  forms  of  the  granite  surpass  all  the  sur- 
prises they  can  have  caused  along  the  sandy  margin  of  the 
shore. 

It  is  vain  to  explain  why  Camille  had  hurried  on  in  front ; 
like  a  wounded  animal,  she  longed  for  solitude ;  she  lost  her- 
self in  the  grottoes,  reappeared  on  the  boulders,  chased  the 


2(MV  BEA  TRIX. 

crabs  out  of  their  holes  or  discovered  them  in  the  very  act  of 
their  eccentric  behavior.  Not  to  be  inconvenienced  by  her 
woman's  skirts,  she  had  put  on  Turkish  trousers  with  embroid- 
ered frills,  a  short  blouse,  and  a  felt  hat ;  and,  by  way  of  a 
traveler's  staff,  she  carried  a  riding-whip,  for  she  was  always 
vain  of  her  strength  and  agility.  Thus  attired,  she  was  a 
hundred  times  handsomer  than  Beatrix ;  she  had  tied  a  little 
red,  China  silk  shawl  across  her  bosom  and  knotted  behind,  as 
we  wrap  a  child.  For  some  little  time  Beatrix  and  Calyste 
saw  her  flitting  over  rocks  and  rifts  like  a  will-o'-the-wisp, 
trying  to  stultify  grief  by  facing  perils. 

She  was  the  first  to  arrive  at  the  box-cliff,  and  sat  down  in 
the  shade  of  one  of  the  clefts,  lost  in  meditation.  What 
could  such  a  woman  as  she  do  in  old  age,  after  drinking  the 
cup  of  fame  which  all  great  talents,  too  greedy  to  sip  the  dull 
driblets  of  vanity,  drain  at  one  draught?  She  has  since  con- 
fessed that  then  and  there,  one  of  the  coincidences  suggested 
by  a  mere  trifle,  by  one  of  the  accidents  which  count  for 
nothing  with  ordinary  people,  though  they  open  a  gulf  of 
meditation  to  a  great  soul,  brought  her  to  a  decision  as  to  the 
strange  deed,  which  was  afterward  the  close  of  her  social 
career.  She  drew  out  of  her  pocket  a  little  box  in  which  she 
had  brought,  in  case  of  thirst,  some  strawberry  pastilles ;  she 
ate  several ;  but  as  she  sucked  them,  she  could  not  help  re- 
flecting that  the  strawberries,  which  were  no  more,  yet  lived 
by  their  qualities.  Hence  she  concluded  that  it  might  be  the 
same  with  us.  The  sea  offered  her  an  image  of  the  infinite. 
No  great  mind  can  get  away  from  the  infinite,  granting  the 
immortality  of  the  soul,  without  being  brought  to  infer  some 
religious  future.  This  idea  still  haunted  her  when  she  smelt 
at  her  scent-bottle  of  Eau  de  Portugal. 

Her  manoeuvres  for  handing  Beatrix  over  to  Calyste  then 
struck  her  as  very  sordid  ;  she  felt  the  woman  die  in  her,  and 
she  emerged  as  the  noble  angelic  being  hitherto  veiled  in  the 
flesh.     Her  vast  intellect,  her  learning,  her  acquirements,  her 


BE  A  TRIX.  201 

spurious  loves  had  brought  her  face  to  face  with  what  ?  Who 
could  have  foretold  it?  With  the  yearning  mother,  the  con- 
soler of  the  sorrowing — the  Roman  Church — so  mild  toward 
repentance,  so  poetical  to  poets,  so  artless  with  children,  so 
deep  and  mysterious  to  wild  and  anxious  spirits,  that  they  can 
for  ever  plunge  deeper  into  it  and  still  satisfy  their  inextin- 
guishable curiosity  which  is  constantly  excited. 

She  glanced  back  at  the  devious  ways  to  which  she  had 
been  led  by  Calyste,  comparing  them  to  the  tortuous  paths 
among  these  rocks.  Calyste  was  still  in  her  eyes  the  lovely 
messenger  from  heaven,  a  divine  leader.  She  smothered 
earthly  in  sacred  love. 

After  walking  on  for  some  time  in  silence,  Calyste,  at  an 
exclamation  from  Beatrix  at  the  beauty  of  the  ocean,  very  dif- 
ferent from  the  Mediterranean,  could  not  resist  drawing  a 
comparison  between  that  sea  and  his  love,  in  its  purity  and 
extent,  its  agitations,  its  depth,  its  eternity. 

"It  has  a  rock  for  its  shore,"  said  Beatrix  with  a  little 
mocking  laugh. 

"When  you  speak  to  me  in  that  tone,"  replied  he  with  a 
heavenly  flash,  "  I  see  you  and  hear  you,  and  I  can  find  an 
angel's  patience ;  but  when  I  am  alone,  you  would  pity  me  if 
you  could  see  me.     My  mother  cries  over  my  grief." 

"  Listen,  Calyste,  this  must  come  to  an  end,"  said  the  Mar- 
quise, stepping  down  on  to  the  sandy  path.  "  Perhaps  we  are 
now  in  the  one  propitious  spot  for  the  utterance  of  such  things, 
for  never  in  my  life  have  I  seen  one  where  nature  was  more  in 
harmony  with  my  thoughts.  I  have  seen  Italy,  where  every- 
thing speaks  of  love ;  I  have  seen  Switzerland,  where  all  is  fresh 
and  expressive  of  true  happiness,  laborious  happiness,  where  the 
verdure,  the  calm  waters,  the  most  placid  outlines  are  over- 
powered by  the  snow-crowned  Alps ;  but  I  have  seen  nothing 
which  more  truly  paints  the  scorching  barrenness  of  my  life 
than  this  little  plain,  withered  by  sea-gales,  corroded  by  salt 
mists,  where  melancholy  tillage  struggles  in  the  face  of  the  im- 


202  BEATRIX. 

mense  ocean  and  under  the  hedgerows  of  Brittany,  whence 
rise  the  towers  of  your  Guerande. 

"  Well,  Calyste,  that  is  Beatrix.  Do  not  attach  yourself  to 
that.  I  love  you,  but  I  will  never  be  yours,  for  I  am  con- 
scious of  my  inward  desolation.  Ah  !  you  can  never  know 
how  cruel  I  am  to  myself  when  I  tell  you  this.  No,  you  shall 
never  see  your  idol — if  I  am  your  idol — stoop ;  it  shall  not 
fall  from  the  height  where  you  have  set  it.  I  have  now  a 
horror  of  a  passion  which  the  world  and  religion  alike  repro- 
bate ;  I  will  be  humbled  no  more,  nor  will  I  steal  happiness. 
I  shall  remain  where  I  am ;  I  shall  be  the  sandy,  unfertile 
desert,  without  verdure  or  flowers,  which  lies  before  you." 

"And  if  you  should  be  deserted?"  said  Calyste. 

"  Then  I  should  go  and  beg  for  mercy.  I  would  humble 
myself  before  the  man  I  have  sinned  against,  but  I  would 
never  run  the  risk  of  rushing  into  happiness  which  I  know 
would  end." 

"End?"  cried  Calyste. 

"  End,"  repeated  the  Marquise,  interrupting  the  rhapsody 
into  which  her  lover  was  plunging,  by  a  tone  which  reduced 
him  to  silence. 

This  contradiction  gave  rise  in  the  youth's  soul  to  one  of 
those  wordless  rages  which  are  known  only  to  those  who  have 
loved  without  hope.  He  and  Beatrix  walked  on  for  about 
three  hundred  yards  in  utter  silence,  looking  neither  at  the 
sea,  nor  the  rocks,  nor  the  fields  of  le  Croisic. 

"  I  should  make  you  so  happy  !  "  said  Calyste. 

"All  men  begin  by  promising  us  happiness,  and  they  be- 
queath to  us  shame,  desertion,  disgust.  I  have  nothing  of 
which  to  accuse  the  man  to  whom  I  ought  to  be  faithful ;  he 
made  me  no  promises ;  I  went  to  him.  But  the  only  way  to 
make  my  fault  less  is  to  make  it  eternal." 

"  Say  at  once,  madame,  that  you  do  not  love  me  !  I  who 
love  you,  know  by  myself  that  love  does  not  argue,  it  sees 
nothing  but  itself,  there  is  no  sacrifice  I  could  not  make  for 


BEATRIX.  203 

it.  Command  me,  and  I  will  attempt  the  impossible.  The 
man  who  of  old  scorned  his  mistress  for  having  thrown  her 
glove  to  the  lions  and  commanded  him  to  rescue  it  did  not 
love  !  He  misprized  your  right  to  test  us,  to  make  sure  of 
our  love,  and  never  to  lay  down  your  arms  but  to  superhuman 
magnanimity.  To  you  I  would  sacrifice  my  family,  my  name, 
my  future  life." 

"  What  an  insult  lies  in  that  word  sacrifice  !  "  replied  she 
in  a  reproachful  tone,  which  made  Calyste  feel  all  the  folly  of 
his  expression. 

Only  women  who  loved  wholly,  or  utter  coquettes,  can  take 
a  word  as  a  fulcrum,  and  spring  to  prodigious  heights ;  wit 
and  feeling  act  on  the  same  lines ;  but  the  woman  who  loves 
is  grieved,  the  coquette  is  contemptuous. 

"You  are  right,"  said  Calyste,  dropping  two  tears,  "the 
word  can  only  be  applied  to  the  achievement  you  demand 
of  me." 

"Be  silent,"  said  Beatrix,  startled  by  a  reply  in  which  for 
the  first  time  Calyste  really  expressed  his  love.  "  I  have  done 
wrong  enough.     Do  not  tempt  me." 

They  had  just  reached  the  base  of  the  box-cliff.  Calyste  felt 
intoxicating  joys  in  helping  the  Marquise  to  climb  the  rock ; 
she  was  bent  on  mounting  to  the  very  top.  The  poor  boy 
thought  it  the  height  of  rapture  to  support  her  by  the  waist, 
to  feel  her  slightly  tremulous :  she  needed  him !  The  un- 
hoped-for joy  turned  his  brain,  he  saw  nothing,  he  put  his 
arm  around  her  body. 

"  Well !  "  she  said  with  an  imperious  look. 

"  You  will  never  be  mine?  "  he  asked  in  a  voice  choked 
by  a  storm  in  his  blood. 

"Never,  my  dear,"  said  she.  "To  you  I  can  only  be 
Beatrix — a  dream.  And  is  not  a  dream  sweet?  We  shall 
know  no  bitterness,  no  regrets,  no  repentance." 

"And  you  will  return  to  Conti?  " 

"There  is  no  help  for  it." 


204  BEATRIX. 

"Then  you  shall  never  more  be  any  man's,"  cried  Ca- 
lyste,  flinging  her  from  him  with  mad  violence. 

He  listened  for  her  fall  before  throwing  himself  after  her, 
but  he  only  heard  a  dull  noise,  the  harsh  rending  of  stuff,  and 
the  heavy  sound  of  a  body  falling  on  earth.  Instead  of  tum- 
bling head  foremost,  Beatrix  had  turned  over ;  she  had  fallen 
into  the  box-tree ;  but  she  would  have  rolled  to  the  bottom 
of  the  sea,  nevertheless,  if  her  gown  had  not  caught  on  a 
corner,  and,  by  tearing,  checked  the  force  of  her  fall  on  the 
bush. 

Mademoiselle  des  Touches,  who  had  witnessed  the  scene, 
could  not  call  out,  for  she  was  aghast,  and  could  only  signal 
to  Gasselin  to  hasten  up.  Calyste  leaned  over,  prompted  by 
a  fierce  sort  of  curiosity ;  he  saw  Beatrix  as  she  lay,  and  shud- 
dered. She  seemed  to  be  praying ;  she  thought  she  must  die, 
she  felt  the  box-tree  giving  way.  With  the  sudden  presence 
of  mind  inspired  by  love,  and  the  supernatural  agility  of 
youth  in  the  face  of  danger,  he  let  himself  down  the  nine 
feet  of  rock  by  his  hands,  clinging  to  the  rough  edges,  to  the 
little  shelf,  where  he  was  in  time  to  rescue  the  Marquise  by 
taking  her  in  his  arms,  at  the  risk  of  their  both  falling  into 
the  sea.  When  he  caught  Beatrix  she  became  unconscious ; 
but  he  could  dream  that  she  was  his,  wholly  his,  in  this  aerial 
bed  where  they  might  have  to  remain  a  long  time,  and  his 
first  feeling  was  an  impulse  of  gladness. 

"Open  your  eyes,  forgive  me!"  said  Calyste.  "Or  we 
die  together." 

"Die?"  said  she,  opening  her  eyes  and  unsealing  her 
pale  lips. 

Calyste  received  the  word  with  a  kiss,  and  then  was  aware 
of  a  spasmodic  thrill  in  the  Marquise,  which  was  ecstasy  to 
him.  At  that  instant  Gasselin's  nailed  shoes  were  audible 
above  them.  Camille  followed  the  Breton,  and  they  were 
anxiously  considering  the  means  of  saving  the  lovers. 

"There   is  but   one  way,   mademoiselle,"  said   Gasselin. 


'Open  your  eyes,  forgive  mei"  said  calyste,   "or   we 
die  together." 


BEATRIX.  205 

**  I  will  let  myself  down ;  they  will  climb  up  on  my  shoulders, 
and  you  will  give  them  your  hand." 

*'  And  you  ?  "  said  Camille. 

The  man  seemed  astonished  at  being  held  of  any  account 
when  his  young  master  was  in  danger. 

"It  will  be  better  to  fetch  a  ladder  from  le  Croisic,"  said 
Camille. 

"  She  is  a  knowing  one,  she  is  !  "  said  Gasselin  to  himself, 
as  he  went  off. 

Beatrix,  in  a  feeble  voice,  begged  to  be  laid  on  the  ground ; 
she  felt  faint.  Calyste  laid  her  down  on  the  cool  earth  be- 
tween the  rock  and  the  box-tree. 

"I  saw  you,  Calyste,"  said  Camille.  "Whether  Beatrix 
dies  or  is  saved,  this  must  never  be  anything  but  an  accident." 

"  She  will  hate  me  !  "  he  cried,  his  eyes  full  of  tears. 

"  She  will  worship  you,"  replied  Camille.  "  This  is  an  end 
to  our  excursion  ;  she  must  be  carried  to  les  Touches.  What 
would  have  become  of  you  if  she  had  been  killed?"  she  said. 

"I  should  have  followed  her." 

**  And  your  mother? — and,"  she  softly  added  after  a  pause, 
"and  me?" 

Calyste  stood  pale,  motionless,  and  silent,  his  back  against 
the  granite.  Gasselin  very  soon  returned  from  one  of  the 
little  farms  that  lie  scattered  among  the  fields,  running  with 
a  ladder  he  had  borrowed.  Beatrix  had  somewhat  recovered 
her  strength.  When  Gasselin  had  fixed  the  ladder,  the 
Marquise,  helped  by  Gasselin,  who  begged  Calyste  to  put 
Camilla's  red  shawl  round  Beatrix,  under  her  arms,  and  to 
give  him  up  the  ends,  climbed  up  to  the  little  plateau,  where 
Gasselin  took  her  in  his  arms  like  a  child,  and  carried  her 
down  to  the  shore. 

"  Death  I  would  not  say  nay  to — but  pain  ! "  said  she  in  a 
weak  voice  to  Mademoiselle  des  Touches. 

The  faintness  and  shock  from  which  Beatrix  was  suffering 
made  it  necessary  that  she  should  be  carried  as  far  as  the  farm 


206  BEATRIX. 

whence  Gasselin  had  borrowed  the  ladder.  Calyste,  Gasselin, 
and  Camille  took  off  such  garments  as  they  could  dispense 
with,  and  made  a  sort  of  mattress  on  the  ladder,  on  which 
they  laid  Beatrix,  carrying  it  like  a  litter.  The  farm-people 
offered  their  bed.  Gasselin  hurried  off  to  the  spot  where  the 
horses  were  waiting  for  them,  took  one,  and  fetched  a  surgeon 
from  le  Croisic,  after  ordering  the  boatmen  to  come  up  the 
creek  that  lay  nearest  to  the  farm.  Calyste,  sitting  on  a  low 
stool,  answered  Camille's  remarks  with  nods  and  rare  mono- 
syllables, and  Mademoiselle  des  Touches  was  equally  uneasy 
as  to  Beatrix's  condition  and  Calyste's. 

After  being  bled  the  patient  felt  better ;  she  could  speak ; 
she  consented  to  go  in  the  boat ;  and  at  about  five  in  the 
afternoon  they  crossed  to  Guerande,  where  the  town  doctor 
was  waiting  for  her.  The  news  of  the  accident  had  spread 
in  this  deserted  and  almost  uninhabited  land  with  amazing 
rapidity. 

Calyste  spent  the  night  at  les  Touches  at  the  foot  of  Beatrix's 
bed  with  Camille.  The  doctor  promised  that  by  next  morn- 
ing the  Marquise  would  suffer  from  nothing  worse  than  stiff- 
ness. Through  Calyste's  despair  a  great  happiness  beamed. 
He  was  at  the  foot  of  Beatrix's  bed  watching  her  asleep  or 
waking  ;  he  could  study  her  pale  face,  her  lightest  movements. 
Camille  smiled  bitterly  as  she  recognized  in  the  lad  all  the 
symptoms  of  a  passion  such  as  tinges  the  soul  and  mind  of  a 
man  by  becoming  a  part  of  his  life  at  a  time  when  no  thought, 
no  cares  counteract  this  torturing  mental  process. 

Calyste  would  never  discern  the  real  woman  in  Beatrix. 
How  guilelessly  did  the  young  Breton  allow  her  to  read  his 
most  secret  soul  !  Why,  he  fancied  she  was  his,  merely  be- 
cause he  found  himself  here,  in  her  room,  admiring  her  in  the 
disorder  of  the  bed.  He  watched  Beatrix  in  her  slightest 
movement  with  rapturous  attention  ;  his  face  expressed  such 
sweet  curiosity,   his  ecstasy  was  so  artlessly  betrayed,   that 


BEATRIX.  207 

there  was  a  moment  when  the  two  women  looked  at  each 
other  with  a  smile.  As  Calyste  read  in  the  invalid's  fine  sea- 
green  eyes  a  mixed  expression  of  confusion,  love,  and  amuse- 
ment, he  blushed  and  looked  away. 

"  Did  I  not  say  to  you,  Calyste,  that  you  men  promised  us 
happiness  and  ended  by  throwing  us  over  a  precipice  ?  " 

As  he  heard  this  little  jest,  spoken  in  a  charming  tone  of 
voice,  which  betrayed  some  change  in  Beatrix's  heart,  Calyste 
knelt  down,  took  one  of  her  moist  hands,  which  she  allowed 
him  to  hold,  and  kissed  it  very  submissively. 

"You  have  every  right  to  reject  my  love  for  ever,"  said  he, 
penitently,  **  and  I  have  no  right  ever  to  say  a  single  word  to 
you  again." 

"Ah!  "  cried  Camille,  as  she  saw  the  expression  of  her 
friend's  face,  and  compared  it  with  that  she  had  seen  after 
every  effort  of  diplomacy;  "  love  unaided  will  always  have 
more  wit  than  all  the  world  beside.  Take  your  draught,  my 
dear,  and  go  to  sleep." 

This  evening  spent  by  Calyste  with  Mademoiselle  des 
Touches,  who  read  books  on  mystical  theology,  while  Calyste 
read  *'  Indiana  " — the  first  work  of  Camille's  famous  rival,  in 
which  he  found  the  captivating  picture  of  a  young  man  who 
loved  with  idolatry  and  devotion,  with  mysterious  rapture, 
and  for  his  whole  life — a  book  of  fatal  teaching  for  him  !  this 
evening  left  an  ineffaceable  mark  on  the  heart  of  the  unhappy 
youth,  for  Felicite  at  last  convinced  him  that  any  woman  who 
was  not  a  monster  could  only  be  happy  and  flattered  in  every 
vanity,  by  knowing  herself  to  be  the  object  of  a  crime. 

"  You  would  never,  never,  have  thrown  me  into  the  sea  !  " 
said  poor  Camille  wiping  away  a  tear. 

Toward  morning  Calyste,  quite  worn  out,  fell  asleep  in  his 
chair.  It  was  now  the  Marquise's  turn  to  look  at  the  pretty 
boy,  pale  with  agitation  and  his  first  love-watch ;  she  heard 
him  murmuring  words  in  his  sleep. 

"  He  loves  in  his  very  dreams !  "  said  she  to  Camille. 


208  BEATRIX. 

**  We  must  send  him  home  to  bed,"  said  Felicity,  awaking 
him. 

No  one  was  alarmed  at  the  du  Guenics' ;  Mademoiselle  des 
Touches  had  written  a  few  words  to  the  Baroness. 

Calyste  dined  at  les  Touches  next  day.  He  found  Beatrix 
up,  pale,  languid,  and  tired.  But  there  was  no  hardness  now 
in  her  speech  or  looks.  After  that  evening,  which  Camille 
filled  with  music,  seating  herself  at  the  piano  to  allow  Calyste 
to  hold  and  press  Beatrix's  hands  while  they  could  say  nothing 
to  each  other,  there  was  never  a  storm  at  les  Touches.  Felicite 
completely  effaced  herself. 

Women  like  Madame  de  Rbchefide,  cold,  fragile,  hard,  and 
thin — such  women,  whose  throat  shows  a  form  of  collar-bone 
suggestive  of  the  feline  race — have  souls  as  pale  and  colorless 
as  their  pale  gray  or  green  eyes ;  to  melt  them,  to  vitrify  these 
flints,  a  thunderbolt  is  needed.  To  Beatrix  this  thunderbolt 
had  fallen  in  Calyste's  rage  of  love  and  attempt  on  her  life  j 
it  was  such  a  flame  as  nothing  can  resist,  changing  the  most 
stubborn  nature.  Beatrix  felt  herself  softened  ;  pure  and  true 
love  flooded  her  soul  with  its  soothing,  lapping  glow.  She 
floated  in  a  mild  and  tender  atmosphere  of  feeling  hitherto 
unknown,  in  which  she  felt  ennobled,  elevated ;  she  had  en- 
tered into  the  heaven  where,  in  all  ages,  woman  has  dwelt,  in 
Brittany.  She  enjoyed  the  respectful  worship  of  this  boy, 
whose  happiness  cost  her  so  little ;  for  a  smile,  a  look,  a  word 
was  enough  for  Calyste.  Such  value  set  by  feeling  on  such 
trifles  touched  her  extremely.  To  this  angelic  soul,  the  glove 
she  had  worn  could  be  more  than  her  whole  body  was  to  the 
man  who  ought  to  have  adored  her.     What  a  contrast ! 

What  woman  could  have  resisted  this  persistent  idolatry? 
She  was  sure  of  being  understood  and  obeyed.  If  she  had 
bid  Calyste  to  risk  his  life  for  her  smallest  whim,  he  would 
not  even  have  paused  to  think.  And  Beatrix  acquired  an  in- 
describable air  of  imposing  dignity ;  she  looked  at  love  on  its 
loftiest  side,  and  sought  in  it  a  footing,  as  it  were,   which 


BEATRIX.  209 

would  enable  her  to  remain,  in  Calyste's  eyes,  the  supreme 
woman;  she  wished  her  power  over  him  to  be  eternal.  She 
coquetted  all  the  more  persistently  because  she  felt  herself 
weak. 

For  a  whole  week  she  played  the  invalid  with  engaging 
hypocrisy.  How  many  times  did  she  walk  around  and  around 
the  green  lawn  that  spread  on  the  garden  side  of  the  house, 
leaning  on  Calyste's  arm,  and  reviving  in  Camille  the  tor- 
ments she  had  caused  her  during  the  first  week  of  her  visit. 

"Well,  my  dear,  you  are  taking  him  the  Grand  Tour!" 
said  Mademoiselle  des  Touches  to  the  Marquise. 

One  evening,  before  the  excursion  to  le  Croisic,  the  two 
women  had  been  discussing  love,  and  laughing  over  the 
various  ways  in  which  men  made  their  declarations,  confessing 
that  the  most  skillful,  and,  of  course,  therefore  the  least  de- 
voted, did  not  waste  time  in  wandering  through  the  mazes  of 
sentimentality,  and  were  right ;  so  that  those  who  loved  best 
were,  at  a  certain  stage,  the  worst  used. 

"  They  set  to  work  as  La  Fontaine  did  to  get  into  the 
Academy,"  said  Camille. 

Her  remark  now  recalled  this  conversation  to  Beatrix's 
memory  while  reproving  her  Machiavellian  conduct.  Madame 
de  Rochefide  had  absolute  power  over  Calyste,  and  could 
keep  him  within  the  bounds  she  chose,  reminding  him  by  a 
look  or  a  gesture  of  his  horrible  violence  by  the  seashore. 
Then  the  poor  martyr's  eyes  would  fill  with  tears;  he  was 
silent,  swallowing  down  his  arguments,  his  hopes,  his  griefs, 
with  a  heroism  that  would  have  touched  any  other  woman. 

Her  infernal  coquetting  brought  him  to  such  desperation 
that  he  came  one  day  to  throw  himself  into  Camille's  arms 
and  ask  her  advice.  Beatrix,  armed  with  Calyste's  letter,  had 
picked  out  the  passage  in  which  he  said  that  loving  was  the 
chief  happiness,  that  being  loved  was  second  to  it,  and  she 
had  made  use  of  this  axiom  to  suppress  his  passion  to  such  a 
degree  of  respectful  idolatry  as  she  chose  to  permit.  She 
14 


210  BEATRIX. 

reveled  in  having  her  spirit  soothed  by  the  sweet  concert  of 
praise  and  adoration  which  nature  suggests  to  youth ;  and 
there  is  so  much  art  too,  though  unconscious,  so  much  inno- 
cent seductiveness  in  their  cries,  their  prayers,  their  exclama- 
tions, their  appeals  to  themselves,  in  their  readiness  to  mort- 
gage the  future,  that  Beatrix  took  care  not  to  answer  him. 
She  had  told  him  she  doubted !  Happiness  was  not  yet  in 
question,  only  the  permission  to  love  that  the  lad  was  con- 
stantly asking  for,  persistently  bent  on  taking  the  citadel 
from  the  strongest  side — that  of  the  mind  and  heart. 

The  woman  who  is  bravest  in  word  is  often  weak  in  action. 
After  seeing  what  progress  he  had  made  by  his  attempt  to 
push  Beatrix  into  the  sea,  it  is  strange  that  Calyste  should 
not  have  continued  the  pursuit  of  happiness  through  violence ; 
but  love  in  these  young  lads  is  so  ecstatic  and  religious  that  it 
insists  on  absolute  conviction.     Hence  its  sublimity. 

However,  one  day  Calyste,  driven  to  bay  by  desire,  com- 
plained vehemently  to  Camille  of  Madame  de  Rochefide's 
conduct. 

"  I  wanted  to  cure  you  by  enabling  you  to  know  her  from 
the  first,"  replied  Mademoiselle  des  Touches,  "  but  you  spoilt 
all  by  your  impetuosity.  Ten  days  since  you  were  her  master ; 
now  you  are  her  slave,  my  poor  boy.  So  you  would  never  be 
strong  enough  to  carry  out  my  orders."  • 

"What  must  I  do?" 

**  Quarrel  with  her  on  the  ground  of  her  cruelty.  A 
woman  is  always  carried  away  by  talk ;  make  her  treat  you 
badly,  and  do  not  return  to  les  Touches  till  she  sends  for 
you." 

There  is  a  moment  in  every  severe  disease  when  the  patient 
accepts  the  most  painful  remedies  and  submits  to  the  most 
horrible  operations.  Calyste  was  at  this  crisis.  He  took 
Camille's  advice  :  he  stayed  at  home  for  two  days ;  but  on 
the  third  he  was  tapping  at  Beatrix's  door  and  telling  her  that 
he  and  Camille  were  waiting  breakfast  for  her. 


BEATRIX.  211 

"Another  chance  lost!"  said  Camille,  seeing  him  sneak 
back  so  tamely. 

During  those  two  days  Beatrix  had  stopped  frequently  at 
the  window  whence  the  Guerande  road  could  be  seen.  When 
Camille  found  her  there  she  said  that  she  was  studying  the 
effect  of  the  gorse  by  the  roadside,  its  golden  bloom  blazing 
under  the  September  sun.  Thus  Camille  had  read  her 
friend's  secret ;  she  had  only  to  say  the  word  for  Calyste  to 
be  happy.  But  she  did  not  speak  it ;  she  was  still  too  much 
a  woman  to  urge  him  to  the  deed  so  dreaded  by  young 
hearts,  who  seem  aware  of  all  that  their  ideal  must  lose  by  it. 

Beatrix  kept  Camille  and  Calyste  waiting  some  little  time ; 
if  he  had  been  any  other  man,  the  delay  would  have  seemed 
significant,  for  the  Marquise's  dress  suggested  her  wish  to 
fascinate  Calyste  and  prevent  his  absenting  himself  again. 
After  breakfast  she  went  to  walk  in  the  garden,  and  en- 
chanted him  with  joy,  as  she  enchanted  him  with  love,  by 
expressing  her  wish  to  go  with  him  again  to  see  the  spot 
where  she  had  so  nearly  perished. 

"Let  us  go  alone,"  said  Calyste  in  a  broken  voice. 

"If  I  refused,"  said  she,  "I  might  give  you  reason  to 
think  that  you  were  dangerous.  Alas !  as  I  have  told  you  a 
thousand  times,  I  belong  to  another,  and  must  forever  be  his 
alone.  I  chose  him,  knowing  nothing  of  love.  The  fault 
was  twofold,  and  the  punishment  double." 

When  she  spoke  thus,  her  eyes  moist  with  the  rare  tears 
such  women  can  shed,  Calyste  felt  a  sort  of  pity  that  cooled 
his  furious  ardor;  he  worshiped  her  then  as  a  Madonna. 
We  must  not  expect  that  different  natures  should  resemble 
each  other  in  the  expression  of  their  feelings,  any  more  than 
we  look  for  the  same  fruits  from  different  trees.  Beatrix  at 
this  moment  was  torn  in  her  mind ;  she  hesitated  between 
herself  and  Calyste ;  between  the  world,  where  she  hoped 
some  day  to  be  seen  again,  and  perfect  happiness;  between 
ruining  herself  finally  by  a  second  unpardonable  passion  and 


212  BEATRIX. 

social  forgiveness.  She  was  beginning  to  listen  without  even 
affected  annoyance  to  the  language  of  blind  love ;  she  allowed 
herself  to  be  soothed  by  the  gentle  hands  of  pity.  Already 
many  times,  she  had  been  moved  to  tears  by  hearing  Calyste 
promising  her  love  enough  to  make  up  for  all  she  could  lose 
in  the  eyes  of  the  world,  and  pitying  her  for  being  bound  to 
such  an  evil  genius,  to  a  man  so  false  as  Conti,  More  than 
once  she  had  not  silenced  Calyste  when  she  had  told  him  of 
the  misery  and  sufferings  that  overwhelmed  her  in  Italy  when 
she  found  that  she  did  not  reign  alone  in  Conti's  heart. 
Camille  had  given  Calyste  more  than  one  lecture  on  this 
subject,  and  Calyste  had  profited  by  them. 

"I,"  said  he,  "love  you  wholly;  you  will  find  in  me 
none  of  the  triumphs  of  art,  nor  the  pleasures  derived  from 
seeing  a  crowd  bewildered  by  the  wonders  of  talent ;  my 
only  talent  is  for  loving  you,  my  only  joys  will  be  in  yours ; 
no  woman's  admiration  will  seem  to  me  worthy  of  considera- 
tion ;  you  need  fear  no  odious  rivals.  You  are  misprized  ; 
and  wherever  you  are  accepted  I  desire  also  to  be  accepted 
every  day." 

She  listened  to  his  words  with  a  drooping  head  and  down- 
cast mien,  allowing  him  to  kiss  her  hands,  and  confessing  to 
herself  silently  but  very  readily  that  she  was,  perhaps,  a  misun- 
derstood angel. 

"I  am  too  much  humiliated,"  she  replied;  "my  past  de- 
prives me  of  all  security  for  the  future." 

It  was  a  great  day  for  Calyste  when,  on  reaching  les 
Touches  at  seven  in  the  morning,  he  saw  from  between  two 
gorse  bushes  Beatrix  at  a  window,  wearing  the  same  straw  hat 
that  she  had  worn  on  the  day  of  their  excursion.  He  felt 
quite  dazzled.  These  small  details  of  passion  make  the  world 
wider. 

Only  Frenchwomen,  perhaps,  have  the  secret  of  these  the- 
atrical touches;  they  owe  them  to  their  graceful  wit,  of  which 


BE  A  TRIX.  218 

they  infuse  just  so  much  into  feeling  as  it  can  bear  without 
losing  its  force. 

Ah  !  how  lightly  she  leaned  on  Calyste's  arm.  They  went 
out  together  by  the  garden  gate  leading  to  the  sand-hills.  Bea- 
trix thought  their  wildness  pleasing  ;  she  saw  the  little  rigid 
plants  that  grow  there  with  their  pink  blossoms,  and  gathered 
several,  with  some  of  the  Carthusian  pinks,  which  also  thrive 
on  barren  sands,  and  divided  the  flowers  significantly  with 
Calyste,  to  whom  these  blossoms  and  leaves  were  to  have  an 
eternally  sinister  association. 

"We  will  add  a  sprig  of  box  !  "  said  she  with  a  smile. 

She  stood  for  some  time  waiting  for  the  boat  on  the  jetty, 
where  Calyste  told  her  of  his  childish  eagerness  the  day  of  her 
arrival. 

"That  expedition,  which  I  heard  of,  was  the  cause  of  my 
severity  that  first  day,"  said  she. 

Throughout  their  walk  Madame  de  Rochefide  talked  in  the 
half-jesting  tone  of  a  woman  who  loves,  and  with  tenderness 
and  freedom  of  manner.  Calyste  might  believe  himself  loved. 
But  when,  as  they  went  along  the  strand  under  the  rocks,  and 
down  into  one  of  those  pretty  bays  where  the  waves  have 
thrown  up  a  marvelous  mosaic  of  the  strangest  marbles,  with 
which  they  played  like  children  at  picking  up  the  finest  speci- 
mens— when  Calyste,  at  the  height  of  intoxication,  proposed 
in  so  many  words  that  they  should  fly  to  Ireland,  she  assumed 
a  dignified  and  mysterious  air,  begged  to  take  his  arm,  and 
went  on  toward  the  cliff  she  had  called  her  Tarpeian  rock. 

"  My  dear  fellow,"  said  she,  as  they  slowly  climbed  the  fine 
block  of  granite  she  meant  to  take  as  her  pedestal,  "I  have 
not  courage  enough  to  conceal  all  you  are  to  me.  For  the 
last  ten  years  I  have  known  no  happiness  to  compare  with  that 
we  have  just  enjoyed  in  hunting  for  shells  among  those  tide- 
washed  rocks,  in  exchanging  pebbles,  of  which  I  shall  have  a 
necklace  made,  more  precious  in  my  eyes  than  if  it  were  com- 
posed of  the  finest  diamonds.     I  have  been  a  child  again,  a 


214  BE  A  TRIX. 

little  girl,  such  as  I  was  at  thirteen  or  fourteen,  when  I  was 
worthy  of  you.  The  love  I  have  been  so  happy  as  to  inspire 
you  with  has  elevated  me  in  my  own  eyes.  Understand  this 
in  all  its  magical  meaning.  You  have  made  me  the  proudest, 
the  happiest  of  my  sex,  and  you  will  live  longer  in  my  memory 
than  I  probably  shall  in  yours." 

At  this  moment  she  had  reached  the  summit  of  the  cliff, 
whence  the  vast  ocean  was  seen  spreading  on  one  side,  and  on 
the  other  the  Brittany  coast  with  its  golden  islets,  its  feudal 
towers,  and  its  clumps  of  gorse.  Never  had  a  woman  a  finer 
stage  on  which  to  make  a  grand  avowal. 

"  But,"  she  went  on,  **  I  am  not  my  own  ;  I  am  more  firmly 
bound  by  my  own  act  than  I  was  by  law.  So  you  are  pun- 
ished for  my  misfortune ;  you  must  be  content  to  know  that 
we  suffer  together.  Dante  never  saw  Beatrice  again,  Petrarch 
never  possessed  his  Laura.  Such  disasters  befall  none  but 
great  souls. 

**0h  !  if  ever  I  should  be  deserted,  if  I  should  fall  a  thou- 
sand degrees  lower  in  shame  and  infamy,  if  your  Beatrix  is 
cruelly  misunderstood  by  a  world  that  will  be  loathsome  to 
her,  if  she  should  be  the  most  despised  of  women  !  Then,  be- 
loved child,"  she  added,  taking  his  hand,  "you  will  know 
that  she  is  the  foremost  of  them  all,  that  she  could  rise  to 
heaven  with  your  support.  But,  then,  my  friend,"  she  added, 
with  a  lofty  glance  at  him,  "when  you  want  to  throw  her 
down,  do  not  miss  your  stroke;  after  your  love,  death  !  " 

Calyste  had  his  arm  around  her  waist ;  he  clasped  her  to 
his  heart.  To  confirm  her  tender  words,  Madame  de  Roche- 
fide  sealed  Calyste's  forehead  with  the  most  chaste  and  timid 
kiss.  Then  they  went  down  the  path  and  returned  slowly, 
talking  like  two  people  who  perfectly  understand  and  enter 
into  each  other's  minds ;  she  believing  she  had  secured  peace, 
he  no  longer  doubting  that  he  was  to  be  happy — and  both 
deceived. 

Calyste  hoped  from  what  Camille  had  observed  that  Conti 


BEATRIX.  215 

would  be  delighted  to  seize  the  opportunity  of  giving  up 
Beatrix.  The  Marquise,  on  her  part,  abandoned  herself  to 
the  uncertainty  of  things,  waiting  on  chance.  Calyste  was 
too  deeply  in  love  and  too  ingenuous  to  create  the  chance. 
They  both  reached  les  Touches  in  the  most  delightful  frame 
of  mind,  going  in  by  the  garden  gate,  of  which  Calyste  had 
taken  the  key. 

It  was  now  about  six  o'clock.  The  intoxicating  perfumes, 
the  mild  atmosphere,  the  golden  tones  of  the  evening  light 
were  all  in  harmony  with  their  tender  mood  and  talk.  Their 
steps  were  matched  and  equal  as  those  of  lovers  are ;  their 
movements  betrayed  the  unison  of  their  mind.  Such  silence 
reigned  at  les  Touches  that  the  sound  of  the  opening  and 
closing  gate  echoed  distinctly,  and  must  have  been  heard  all 
over  the  grounds.  As  Calyste  and  Beatrix  had  said  all  they 
had  to  say,  and  their  agitating  walk  had  tired  them,  they 
came  in  slowly  and  without  speaking. 

Suddenly,  as  she  turned  an  angle,  Beatrix  was  seized  with 
a  spasm  of  horror — the  infectious  dread  that  is  caused  by  the 
sight  of  a  reptile,  and  that  chilled  Calyste  before  he  saw  its 
occasion.  On  a  bench  under  a  weeping  ash  Conti  sat  talking 
to  Camille  Maupin.  Madame  de  Rochefide's  convulsive  inter- 
nal trembling  was  more  evident  than  she  wished.  Calyste  now 
realized  how  dear  he  was  to  this  woman  who  had  just  built 
the  barrier  between  herself  and  him,  no  doubt  with  a  view 
to  securing  a  few  days  more  for  coquetting  before  overleap- 
ing it. 

In  one  instant  a  tragical  drama  in  endless  perspective  was 
felt  in  each  heart. 

"You  did  not  expect  me  so  soon,  I  dare  say,"  said  the 
artist,  offering  Beatrix  his  arm. 

The  Marquise  could  not  avoid  relinquishing  Calyste's  arm 
and  taking  Conti's.  This  undignified  transition,  so  impera- 
tively demanded,  so  full  of  off"ense  to  the  later  love,  was  too 
much  for  Calyste,  who  went  to  throw  himself  on  the  bench 


216  BEATRIX. 

by  Camille,  after  exchanging  the  most  distant  greeting  with 
his  rival.  He  felt  a  hundred  contending  sensations.  On  dis- 
cerning how  much  Beatrix  loved  him,  his  first  impulse  was  to 
rush  at  the  artist  and  declare  that  she  was  his ;  but  the  poor 
woman's  moral  convulsion,  betraying  her  sufferings — for  she 
had  in  that  one  moment  paid  the  forfeit  of  all  her  sins — had 
startled  him  so  much  that  he  remained  stupefied,  stricken,  like 
her,  by  relentless  necessity.  These  antagonistic  impulses  pro- 
duced the  most  violent  storm  of  feeling  he  had  yet  known 
since  he  had  loved  Beatrix. 

Madame  de  Rochefide  and  Conti  went  past  the  seat  where 
Calyste  had  thrown  himself  by  Camille's  side,  the  Marquise 
looking  at  her  rival  with  one  of  those  terrible  flashes  by  which 
a  woman  can  convey  everything.  She  avoided  Calyste's  eye, 
and  seemed  to  listen  to  Conti,  who  was  talking  lightly. 

"What  can  they  be  saying?"  asked  the  agitated  Calyste 
of  Camille. 

"  Dear  child,  you  have  no  idea  yet  of  the  terrible  hold  a 
man  has  over  a  woman  on  the  strength  of  a  dead  passion. 
Beatrix  could  not  refuse  him  her  hand.  He  is  laughing  at 
her,  no  doubt,  over  her  fresh  love  affair;  he  guessed  it,  of 
course,  from  your  behavior  and  the  way  in  which  you  came 
in  together  when  he  saw  you." 

'*  He  is  laughing  at  her  !  "  cried  the  vehement  youth. 

"Keep  calm,"  said  Camille,  "or  you  will  lose  the  few 
chances  that  remain  to  you.  If  he  wounds  Beatrix  too  much 
in  her  vanities,  she  will  trample  him  under  foot  like  a  worm. 
But  he  is  astute ;  he  will  know  how  to  do  it  cleverly.  He  will 
not  suppose  that  the  haughty  Madame  de  Rochefide  could 
possibly  be  false  to  him !  It  would  be  too  base  to  love  a 
young  man  for  his  beauty !  He  will  no  doubt  speak  of  you 
to  her  as  a  mere  boy  bewitched  by  the  notion  of  possessing  a 
Marquise  and  of  ruling  the  destinies  of  two  women.  Finally, 
he  will  thunder  with  the  rattling  artillery  of  insulting  insinu- 
ations.    Then  Beatrix  will  be  obliged  to  combat  him  with 


I 


BEATRIX.  217 

false  denials,  of  which  he  will  take  advantage  and  remain 
master  of  the  field." 

**  Ah  !  "  cried  Calyste,  "  he  does  not  love.  I  should  leave 
her  free.  Love  demands  a  choice  renewed  every  minute,  con- 
firmed every  day.  The  morrow  is  the  justification  of  yester- 
day, and  increases  our  hoard  of  joys.  A  few  days  later  and 
he  would  not  have  found  us  here.     What  brought  him  back?  " 

"A  journalist's  taunt,"  said  Camille.  "The  opera  on 
whose  success  he  had  counted  is  a  failure — a  dead  failure. 
These  words  spoken  in  the  greenroom,  perhaps  by  Claud 
Vignon,  *  It  is  hard  to  lose  your  reputation  and  your  mistress 
both  at  once  !  '  stung  him  no  doubt  in  all  his  vanities.  Love 
based  on  mean  sentiments  is  merciless. 

"  I  questioned  him  ;  but  who  can  trust  so  false  and  deceit- 
ful a  nature  ?  He  seemed  weary  of  poverty  and  of  love,  dis- 
gusted with  life.  He  regretted  having  connected  himself  so 
publicly  with  the  Marquise,  and  in  speaking  of  their  past 
happiness  fell  into  a  strain  of  poetic  melancholy  rather  too 
elegant  to  be  genuine.  He  hoped  no  doubt  to  extract  the 
secret  of  your  love  from  the  joy  his  flattery  must  give  me." 

"Well?"  said  Calyste,  looking  at  Beatrix  and  Conti  re- 
turning, and  listening  no  longer  to  Camille. 

Camille  had  prudently  kept  on  the  defensive  ;  she  had  not 
betrayed  either  Calyste's  secret  or  Beatrix's.  The  artist  was 
a  man  to  dupe  any  one  in  the  world,  and  Mademoiselle  des 
Touches  warned  Calyste  to  be  on  his  guard  with  him. 

*•  My  dear  child,"  said  she,  "  this  is  for  you  the  most  crit- 
ical moment ;  such  prudence  and  skill  are  needed  as  you 
have  not,  and  you  will  be  fooled  by  the  most  cunning  man 
on  earth  ;  for  I  can  do  no  more  for  you." 

A  bell  announced  that  dinner  was  served.  Conti  offered 
his  arm  to  Camille,  Beatrix  took  that  of  Calyste,  Camille 
let  the  Marquise  lead  the  way;  she  had  a  moment  to  look  at 
Calyste  and  enjoin  prudence  by  putting  her  finger  to  her  lips. 

All  through  dinner  Conti  was  in  the  highest  spirits.     This 


218  BEA  TRIX. 

was  perhaps  a  way  of  gauging  Madame  de  Rochefide,  who 
played  her  part  badly.  As  a  coquette  she  might  have  de- 
ceived Conti  ;  but,  being  seriously  in  love,  she  betrayed  her- 
self. The  wily  musician,  far  from  watching  her,  seemed  not 
to  observe  her  embarrassment.  At  dessert  he  began  talking 
of  women  and  crying  up  their  noble  feelings. 

"  A  woman  who  would  desert  us  in  prosperity  will  sacrifice 
everything  to  us  in  adversity,"  said  he.  "  Women  have  the 
advantage  of  men  in  constancy  ;  a  woman  must  be  deeply 
offended  indeed  to  throw  over  a  first  lover ;  she  clings  to  him 

as  to  her  honor;  a  second  love  is  a  disgrace "  and  so 

forth. 

He  was  astoundingly  moral ;  he  burnt  incense  before  the 
altar  on  which  a  heart  was  bleeding  pierced  by  a  thousand 
stabs.  Only  Camille  and  Beatrix  understood  the  virulence 
of  the  acrid  satire  he  poured  out  in  the  form  of  praises. 
Now  and  again  they  both  colored,  but  they  were  obliged  to 
control  themselves;  they  went  up  to  Camille's  sitting-room 
arm  in  arm,  and  with  one  consent  passed  through  the  larger 
drawing-room,  where  there  were  no  lights,  and  they  could 
exchange  a  few  words. 

"I  cannot  endure  to  let  Conti  walk  over  my  prostrate  body, 
to  give  him  a  right  over  me,"  said  Beatrix  in  an  undertone. 
"The  convict  on  the  hulks  is  always  at  the  mercy  of  the  man 
he  is  chained  to.  I  am  lost !  I  must  go  back  to  the  hulks  of 
love  !  And  it  is  you  who  have  sent  me  back.  Ah,  you  made 
him  come  a  day  too  late — or  too  soon.  I  recognize  your  in- 
fernal gift  of  romance.  Yes,  the  revenge  is  complete  and  the 
climax  perfect." 

"  I  could  threaten  you  that  I  would  write  to  Conti,  but  as 
to  doing  it !  I  am  incapable  of  such  a  thing  !  "  cried  Camille. 
"You  are  miserable,  so  I  forgive  you." 

"What  will  become  of  Calyste?"  said  the  Marquise,  with 
the  exquisite  artlessness  of  vanity. 

"Then  is  Conti  taking  you  away?"  cried  Camille. 


BEATRIX.  219 

"Ah  !  you  expect  to  triumph?"  retorted  Beatrix. 

The  Marquise  spoke  the  hideous  words  with  rage,  her  beauti- 
ful features  distorted,  while  Camille  tried  to  conceal  her  glad- 
ness under  an  assumed  expression  of  regret ;  but  the  light  in 
her  eyes  gave  the  lie  to  the  gravity  of  her  face,  and  Beatrix 
could  see  through  a  mask !  When  they  saw  each  other  by 
candlelight,  sitting  on  the  divan  where  during  the  last  three 
weeks  so  many  comedies  had  been  played  out,  where  the  secret 
tragedy  of  so  many  thwarted  passions  had  had  its  beginning, 
the  two  women  studied  each  other  for  the  last  time ;  they  saw 
that  they  were  divided  by  a  deep  gulf  of  hatred. 

"I  leave  you  Calyste,"  said  Beatrix,  seeing  her  rival's  eyes. 
"  But  I  am  fixed  in  his  heart,  and  no  woman  will  oust  me." 

Camille  retorted  by  quoting,  in  a  tone  of  subtle  irony 
which  stung  the  Marquise  to  the  quick,  the  famous  speech  of 
Mazarin's  niece  to  Louis  XIV.:  "You  reign,  you  love  him, 
and  you  are  going !  " 

Neither  of  them  throughout  this  scene,  which  was  a  stormy 
one,  noticed  the  absence  of  Calyste  and  Conti,  The  artist 
had  remained  at  table  with  his  rival,  desiring  him  to  keep  him 
company  and  finish  a  bottle  of  champagne. 

"  We  have  something  to  say  to  each  other,"  said  Conti,  to 
anticipate  any  refusal. 

In  the  position  in  which  they  stood  to  each  other,  the 
young  Breton  was  obliged  to  obey  the  behest. 

"My  dear  boy,"  said  the  singer  in  a  soothing  voice  when 
Calyste  had  drunk  two  glasses  of  wine,  "  we  are  a  couple  of 
good  fellows ;  we  may  be  frank  with  each  other.  I  did  not 
come  here  because  I  was  suspicious.  Beatrix  loves  me." 
And  he  assumed  a  fatuous  air.  "  For  my  part,  I  love  her  no 
longer ;  I  have  come,  not  to  carry  her  off,  but  to  break  with 
her  and  leave  her  the  credit  of  the  rupture.  You  are  young ; 
you  do  not  know  how  necessary  it  is  to  seem  the  victim  when 
you  feel  that  you  are  the  executioner.  Young  men  spout  fire 
and  flame,  they  make  a  parade  of  throwing  over  a  woman, 


220  BEATRIX. 

they  often  scorn  her  and  make  her  hate  them ;  but  a  wise  man 
gets  himself  dismissed,  and  puts  on  a  humiliated  expression 
which  leaves  the  lady  some  regrets  and  a  sweet  sense  of  supe- 
riority. The  displeasure  of  the  divinity  is  not  irremediable, 
while  abdication  is  past  all  reparation. 

**  You,  happily  for  you,  do  not  yet  know  how  our  lives  may 
be  hampered  by  the  senseless  promises  which  women  are  such 
fools  as  to  accept,  when  gallantry  requires  us  to  tie  such  slip- 
knots to  divert  the  idle  hours  of  happiness.  The  pair  then 
swear  eternal  fidelity.  A  man  has  some  adventure  with  a 
woman — he  does  not  fail  to  assure  her  politely  that  he  hopes 
to  live  and  die  with  her ;  he  pretends  to  be  impatiently  await- 
ing the  demise  of  a  husband  while  earnestly  wishing  him  per- 
fect health.  If  the  husband  should  die,  there  are  women  so 
provincial  or  so  tenacious,  so  silly  or  so  wily,  as  to  rush  on  the 
man,  crying,  *  I  am  free —  here  I  am  ! ' 

"  Not  one  of  us  is  free.  The  spent  ball  recoils  and  falls 
into  the  midst  of  our  best-planned  triumph  or  our  greatest 
happiness. 

"  I  foresaw  that"  you  would  love  Beatrix  ;  I  left  her  in  a 
situation  in  which  she  must  need  flirt  with  you  without  abdi- 
cating her  sacred  majesty,  were  it  only  to  annoy  that  angel, 
Camille  Maupin.  Well,  my  dear  fellow,  love  her :  you  will 
be  doing  me  a  service.  I  only  want  her  to  behave  atrociously 
to  me.  I  dread  her  pride  and  her  virtue.  Perhaps,  in  spite 
of  good-will  on  my  side,  some  time  will  be  required  for  this 
manoeuvre.  On  such  occasions  the  one  who  does  not  take 
the  first  step  wins.  Just  now,  as  we  walked  around  the  lawn, 
I  tried  to  tell  her  that  I  knew  all,  and  wished  her  joy  of  her 
happiness.     Well,  she  was  very  angry. 

"  I,  at  this  moment,  am  in  love  with  the  youngest  of  our 
singers.  Mademoiselle  Falcon,  of  the  opera,  and  I  want  to 
marry  her.  Yes,  I  have  gotten  so  far  as  that !  But  when 
you  come  to  Paris,  you  will  say  I  have  exchanged  a  marquise 
for  a  queen  !  " 


BEATRIX.  221 

Joy  shed  its  glory  on  Calyste's  candid  face ;  he  confessed 
his  love;  this  was  all  that  Conti  wanted. 

There  is  not  a  man  in  the  world,  however  blase,  however 
depraved,  whose  love  does  not  revive  as  soon  as  it  is  threat- 
ened by  a  rival.  We  may  wish  to  be  rid  of  a  woman ;  we  do 
not  wish  that  she  should  throw  us  over.  When  lovers  have 
come  to  this  extremity,  men  and  women  alike  try  to  be  first 
in  the  field,  so  cruel  is  the  wound  to  their  self-respect.  Per- 
haps what  is  at  stake  is  all  that  society  has  thrown  into  that 
feeling ;  it  is  indeed  less  a  matter  of  self-respect  than  of  life 
itself,  the  whole  future  is  in  the  balance ;  we  feel  as  if  we  were 
losing  not  the  interest,  but  the  capital. 

Calyste,  cross-examined  by  the  artist,  related  all  that  had 
happened  during  these  three  weeks  at  les  Touches,  and  was 
delighted  with  Conti,  who  concealed  his  rage  under  a  sem- 
blance of  delightful  good-nature. 

"  Let  us  go  upstairs,"  said  he.  "Women  are  not  trustful ; 
they  will  not  understand  how  we  can  have  sat  together  for  so 
long  without  clutching  at  each  other's  hair;  they  might  come 
down  to  listen.  I  will  do  all  I  can  for  you,  my  dear  child. 
I  will  be  odious,  rude,  and  jealous  with  the  Marquise;  I  will 
constantly  suspect  her  of  deceiving  me — there  is  nothing  more 
certain  to  lead  a  woman  to  a  betrayal ;  you  will  be  happy, 
and  I  shall  be  free.  You,  this  evening,  must  assume  the  part 
of  a  disconcerted  lover ;  I  shall  play  the  suspicious  and  jealous 
man.  Pity  the  angel  for  her  inthrallment  to  a  man  without 
fine  feelings — weep  !  You  can  weep,  you  are  young.  I,  alas, 
can  no  longer  weep ;  it  is  a  great  advantage  lost." 

Calyste  and  Conti  went  upstairs.  The  musician,  requested 
to  sing  by  his  young  rival,  chose  the  greatest  test  known  to 
musical  executants,  the  famous  "Pria  che  spunti  f  aurora," 
which  Rubini  himself  never  attempts  without  a  qualm,  and  in 
which  Conti  had  often  triumphed.  Never  had  he  been  more 
wonderful  than  at  this  moment  when  so  many  feelings  were 
seething  in  his  breast.     Calyste  was  in  ecstasies.     At  the  first 


222  BEATRIX. 

note  of  the  cavatiua  the  singer  fired  a  glance  at  the  Marquise 
which  gave  cruel  significance  to  the  words,  and  which  was 
understood.  Camille,  playing  the  accompaniment,  guessed 
that  it  was  a  command  that  made  Beatrix  bow  her  head.  She 
looked  at  Calyste,  and  suspected  that  the  boy  had  fallen  int® 
some  snare  in  spite  of  her  warnings.  She  was  certain  of  it 
when  the  youth  went  gleefully  to  bid  Beatrix  good-night, 
kissing  her  hand  and  pressing  it  with  a  little  knowing  and 
confident  look. 

By  the  time  Calyste  had  reached  Guerande  the  ladies'  maid 
and  servants  were  packing  Conti's  traveling  carriage ;  and 
**  before  the  dawn,"  as  he  had  sung,  he  had  carried  off  Beatrix, 
with  Camille's  horses,  as  far  as  the  first  posting-house. 

Under  cover  of  the  darkness,  Madame  de  Rochefide  was 
able  to  look  back  at  Guerande,  whose  tower,  white  in  the 
daybreak,  stood  out  in  the  gray  light.  She  gave  herself  up 
to  melancholy — for  she  was  leaving  there  one  of  the  fairest 
flowers  of  life — love  such  as  the  purest  girls  may  dream  of. 
Respect  of  persons  was  crushing  the  only  true  love  this  woman 
had  ever  known,  or  could  ever  know,  in  all  her  life.  The 
woman  of  the  world  was  obeying  the  laws  of  the  world,  sacri- 
ficing love  to  appearances,  as  some  women  sacrifice  it  to  re- 
ligion or  to  duty.  From  this  point  of  view,  this  terrible  story 
is  that  of  many  women. 

Next  day,  at  about  noon,  Calyste  arrived  at  les  Touches. 
When  he  reached  the  turn  in  the  road  whence,  yesterday,  he 
had  seen  Beatrix  at  the  window,  he  caught  sight  of  Camille, 
who  hurried  out  to  meet  him.  At  the  bottom  of  the  stairs 
she  said  this  cruel  word — 

"Gone!" 

"  Beatrix?  "  cried  Calyste,  stunned. 

"You  were  duped  by  Conti.  You  told  rae  nothing;  I 
could  do  nothing." 

She  led  the  poor  boy  to  her  little  drawing-room ;  he  sank 
on  the  divan,  in  the  place  where  he  had  so  often  seen  the 


BEATRIX.  223 

Marquise,  and  melted  into  tears.  Felicitd  said  nothing  j  she 
smoked  her  hookah,  knowing  that  nothing  can  stem  the  first 
rush  of  such  suffering,  which  is  always  deaf  and  speechless. 
Calyste,  since  there  was  nothing  to  be  done,  stayed  there  all 
day  in  a  state  of  utter  torpor.  Just  before  dinner,  Camille 
tried  to  say  a  few  words  to  him,  after  begging  that  he  would 
listen  to  her. 

"My  dear  boy,"  said  she,  "you  have  been  the  cause  to 
me  of  ii^tense  suffering,  and  I  have  not,  as  you  have,  a  fair 
future  life  in  which  to  recover.  To  me  the  earth  has  no 
further  springtime,  the  soul  no  further  love.  So  I,  to  find 
comfort,  must  look  higher. 

"  Here,  the  day  before  Beatrix  came,  I  painted  her  por- 
trait \  I  would  not  darken  it,  you  would  have  thought  that  I 
was  jealous.  Now,  listen  to  the  truth.  Madame  de  Roche- 
fide  is  as  far  as  possible  from  being  worthy  of  you.  The  dis- 
play of  her  fall  was  not  necessary,  but  she  would  have  been 
nobody  but  for  that  scandal ;  she  made  it  on  purpose  to  have 
a  part  to  play.  She  is  one  of  those  women  who  prefer  the 
parade  of  wrongdoing  to  the  calm  peace  of  happiness ;  they 
affront  society  to  wring  from  it  the  evil  gift  of  a  slander  ; 
they  must  be  talked  about,  at  whatever  cost.  She  was  eaten 
up  by  vanity.  Her  fortune  and  wit  had  not  availed  to  give 
her  the  feminine  dominion  which  she  had  tried  to  conquer  by 
presiding  over  a  salon ;  she  had  fancied  that  she  could  achieve 
the  celebrity  of  the  Duchesse  de  Langeais  and  the  Vicomtesse 
de  Beaus^ant ;  but  the  world  is  just,  it  bestows  the  honors  of 
its  interest  only  on  genuine  passion. 

**  Her  flight  was  not  justified  by  any  obstacles.  Damocles' 
sword  did  not  hang  glittering  over  her  festivities  ;  and  beside, 
in  Paris,  those  who  love  truly  and  sincerely  may  easily  be 
happy  in  a  quiet  way.  In  short,  if  she  could  be  tender  and 
loving,  she  would  not  have  gone  off  last  night  with  Conti." 

Camille  talked  for  a  long  time,  and  very  eloquently,  but 
this  last  effort  was  in  vain  \  she  ceased  on  seeing  a  shrug,  by 


224  BEATRIX. 

which  Calyste  conveyed  his  entire  belief  in  Beatrix,  and  she 
insisted  on  his  coming  down  and  sitting  with  her  at  dinner, 
for  he  found  it  impossible  to  eat. 

It  is  only  while  we  are  very  young  that  these  spasmodic 
symptoms  occur.  At  a  later  period  the  organs  have  formed 
habits,  and  are,  as  it  were,  hardened.  The  reaction  of  the 
moral  system  on  the  physical  is  never  strong  enough  to  induce 
mortal  illness  unless  the  constitution  preserves  its  original 
delicacy.  A  man  can  resist  a  violent  grief  which  kills  a 
youth,  less  because  his  feelings  are  not  so  strong  than  because 
his  organs  are  stronger.  Mademoiselle  des  Touches  was  in- 
deed alarmed  from  the  first  by  Calyste' s  calm  and  resigned 
attitude  after  the  first  flood  of  tears.  Before  leaving  the 
house,  he  begged  to  see  Beatrix's  room  once  more,  and  hid 
his  face  in  the  pillow  on  which  hers  had  rested. 

"This  is  folly  !  "  said  he,  shaking  hands  with  Camille  and 
leaving  her,  sunk  in  melancholy. 

He  returned  home,  found  the  usual  party  engaged  in  playing 
mouche,  and  sat  by  his  mother  all  the  evening.  The  cure, 
the  Chevalier  du  Halga,  and  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel  all 
knew  of  Madame  de  Rochefide's  departure,  and  were  all  glad. 
Calyste  would  now  come  back  to  them,  and  they  all  watched, 
almost  by  stealth,  seeing  that  he  was  silent.  Nobody  in  that 
old  house  could  conceive  of  all  that  this  death  of  a  first  love 
must  be  to  a  heart  so  true  and  artless  as  Calyste's. 

For  some  days  Calyste  went  regularly  to  les  Touches ;  he 
would  wander  round  the  grass-plot  where  he  had  sometimes 
walked  arm  in  arm  with  Beatrix.  He  often  went  as  far  as 
le  Croisic,  and  climbed  the  rock  whence  he  had  tried  to  throw 
her  into  the  sea;  he  would  sit  for  hours  leaning  on  the  box- 
shrub,  for  by  examining  the  projections  on  the  riven  rock  he 
had  learned  to  climb  up  and  down  the  face  of  it.  His  solitary 
expeditions,  his  silence,  and  his  lack  of  appetite  at  last  made 
his  mother  uneasy.     At  th^  end  of  a  fortnight,  while  these 


BEATRIX.  225 

proceedings  lasted — a  good  deal  like  those  of  an  animal  in  its 
cage,  and  the  despairing  lover's  cage  was,  to  adopt  La  Fon- 
taine's phrase,  "  the  spots  honored  by  the  footstep,  illumi- 
nated by  the  eyes ' '  of  Beatrix — Calyste  could  no  longer  cross 
the  little  inlet ;  he  had  only  strength  enough  to  drag  himself 
as  far  on  the  Guerande  road  as  the  spot  whence  he  had  seen 
Beatrix  at  the  window. 

The  family,  glad  at  the  departing  of  "the  Parisians,"  to 
use  the  provincial  phrase,  discerned  nothing  ominous  or  sickly 
in  Calyste.  The  two  old  maids  and  the  cure,  following  up 
their  plan,  had  kept  Charlotte  de  Kergarouet,  who,  in  the 
evening,  made  eyes  at  Calyste,  and  got  nothing  in  return  but 
advice  as  to  her  game  of  mouche.  All  through  the  evening 
Calyste  would  sit  between  his  mother  and  his  provincial 
fiancee,  under  the  eye  of  the  cur6  and  of  Charlotte's  aunt, 
who,  on  their  way  home,  would  comment  on  his  greater  or 
less  dejection.  They  took  the  unhappy  boy's  indifference  for 
acquiescence  in  their  plans. 

One  evening,  when  Calyste,  being  tired,  had  gone  early  to 
bed,  the  players  all  left  their  cards  on  the  table  and  looked  at 
each  other  as  the  young  man  shut  his  bedroom  door.  They 
had  listened  anxiously  to  his  footsteps. 

"Something  ails  Calyste,"  said  the  Baroness,  wiping  her 
eyes. 

"There  is  nothing  the  matter  with  him,"  replied  Made- 
moiselle de  Pen-Hoel ;  "  we  must  get  him  married  as  soon  as 
may  be." 

"  Do  you  think  that  will  divert  him  ?  "  said  the  chevalier. 

Charlotte  looked  sternly  at  Monsieur  du  Halga,  whom  she 
thought  in  very  bad  taste  this  evening,  immoral,  depraved, 
irreligious,  and  quite  ridiculous  with  his  dog,  in  spite  of  her 
aunt,  who  always  took  the  old  sailor's  part. 

"To-morrow  morning  I  will  lecture  Calyste,"  said  the  old 
Baron,  whom  they  had  thought  asleep;  "  I  do  not  want  to  go 
out  of  this  world  without  having  seen  my  grandson,  a  little 
15 


226  BEATRIX. 

pink-and-white  du  Guenic,  with  a  Breton  hood  on,  in  his 
cradle." 

"  He  never  speaks  a  word,"  said  old  Zephirine;  "no  one 
knows  what  ails  him ;  he  never  ate  less  in  his  life ;  what  does 
he  live  on  ?  If  he  eats  at  les  Touches,  the  devil's  cookery 
does  him  no  good." 

"  He  is  in  love,"  said  the  chevalier,  proffering  this  opinion 
with  extreme  timidity. 

**  Now,  then,  old  dotard,  you  have  not  put  into  the  pool," 
said  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel.  "When  you  are  thinking 
of  your  young  days,  you  forget  everything  else." 

**  Come  to  breakfast  with  us  to-morrow  morning,"  said  old 
Zephirine  to  Charlotte  and  Jacqueline;  "  my  brother  will  talk 
to  his  son,  and  we  will  settle  everything.  One  nail  drives  out 
another." 

**  Not  in  a  Breton,"  said  the  chevalier. 

The  next  morning  Calyste  saw  Charlotte  arrive,  dressed  with 
unusual  care,  though  it  was  still  early,  just  as  his  father  had 
ended  giving  him,  in  the  dining-room,  a  discourse  on  matri- 
mony, to  which  the  lad  could  find  nothing  to  say.  He  knew 
how  ignorant  his  aunt,  his  father,  and  his  mother  were,  and 
all  their  friends  ;  he  was  gathering  the  fruits  of  knowledge ; 
he  found  himself  isolated,  no  longer  speaking  the  language  of 
the  household.  So  he  only  begged  a  few  days'  respite,  and 
his  father  rubbed  his  hands  with  joy  and  gave  new  life  to  the 
Baroness  by  whispering  the  good  news  in  her  ear. 

Breakfast  was  a  cheerful  meal.  Charlotte,  to  whom  the 
Baron  had  given  a  wink,  was  in  high  spirits.  A  rumor  filtered 
through  Gasselin,  by  which  all  the  town  knew  that  the  du 
Guenics  and  the  Kergarouets  had  come  to  an  understanding. 
After  breakfast  Calyste  went  out  of  the  hall  by  the  steps  on 
the  garden-side,  and  was  followed  by  Charlotte ;  he  offered 
her  his  arm,  and  led  her  to  the  arbor  at  the  bottom  of  the 
garden.  The  old  folk,  standing  at  the  window,  looked  at 
them  with  a  sort  of  pathos.     Charlotte  looked  back  at  the 


BEATRIX.  227 

pretty  house,  somewhat  uneasy  at  her  companion's  silence,  and 
took  advantage  of  their  presence  to  begin  the  conversation  by 
saying  to  Calyste,  "  They  are  watching  us  !  " 

"  They  cannot  hear  us,"  he  replied. 

"  No,  but  they  can  see  us," 

"Let  us  sit  down,"  said  Calyste  gently,  as  he  took  her 
hand. 

"  Is  it  true  that  your  banner  once  floated  from  that  twisted 
pillar?"  asked  Charlotte,  looking  at  the  house  as  if  it  were 
her  own.  "It  would  look  well  there!  How  happy  one 
might  be  here  !  You  will  make  some  alterations  in  the  ar- 
rangement of  your  house,  will  you  not,  Calyste?" 

"I  shall  have  no  time  for  it,  my  dear  Charlotte,"  said  the 
young  man,  taking  her  hands  and  kissing  them.  "  I  will  tell 
you  my  secret.  I  love  a  woman  whom  you  have  seen,  and 
who  loves  me — love  her  too  well  to  make  any  other  woman 
happy;  and  I  know  that  from  our  infancy  you  and  I  have 
always  been  intended  to  marry." 

"But  she  is  married,  Calyste,"  said  Charlotte. 

"  I  will  wait,"  said  the  boy, 

"And  so  will  I,"  said  Charlotte,  her  eyes  full  of  tears. 
"  You  cannot  love  that  woman  for  long;  she  has  gone  off  with 
a  singer,  they  say " 

"  Marry  some  one  else,  my  dear  Charlotte,"  said  Calyste. 
"With  such  a  fortune  as  your  aunt  has  to  leave  you,  which  is 
enormous  in  Brittany,  you  can  find  a  better  match  than  I. 
You  will  find  a  man  with  a  title.  I  have  not  brought  you  out 
here  to  tell  you  what  you  already  know,  but  to  entreat  you  in 
the  name  of  our  long  friendship  to  take  the  matter  upon  your- 
self and  to  refuse  me.  Say  that  you  can  have  nothing  to  say 
to  a  man  whose  heart  is  not  free,  and  my  passion  will  at  least 
have  been  so  far  serviceable  that  I  shall  have  done  you  no 
wrong.  You  cannot  think  how  life  weighs  upon  me !  I 
cannot  endure  any  struggle,  I  am  as  weak  as  a  body  deserted 
by  its  soul,  by  the  very  element  of  life.     But  for  the  grief  that 


228  BEATRIX. 

my  death  would  be  to  my  mother  and  my  aunt,  I  should  have 
thrown  myself  into  the  sea  ere  now,  and  I  have  never  gone  to 
the  rocks  of  le  Croisic  since  the  day  when  the  temptation 
began  to  be  irresistible.  Say  nothing  of  this.  Charlotte,  fare- 
well." 

He  took  the  girl's  head  in  his  hands,  kissed  her  hair,  went 
out  by  the  path  under  the  gable,  and  made  his  escape  to 
Camille's,  where  he  remained  till  midnight. 

On  returning  at  about  one  in  the  morning  he  found  his 
mother  busy  with  her  tapestry,  waiting  for  him.  He  crept  in 
softly,  took  her  hand,  and  asked — 

**Is  Charlotte  gone?" 

"She  is  going  to-morrow  with  her  aunt;  they  are  both  in 
despair.  Come  to  Ireland,  my  Calyste,"  she  added,  caressing 
him. 

"How  many  times  have  I  dreamed  of  flying  thither!" 
said  he. 

"  Really  !  "  exclaimed  the  Baroness. 

"  With  Beatrix,"  he  added. 

Some  days  after  Charlotte's  departure,  Calyste  was  walking 
with  the  Chevalier  du  Halga  on  the  mall,  and  he  sat  down  in 
the  sun  on  a  bench  whence  his  eye  could  command  the  whole 
landscape,  from  the  weathercocks  of  les  Touches  to  the  shoals 
marked  out  by  the  foaming  breakers  which  dance  above  the 
reefs  at  high-tide.  Calyste  was  thin  and  pale,  his  strength 
was  diminishing,  he  was  beginning  to  have  little  periodical 
shivering  fits,  symptomatic  of  fever.  His  eyes,  with  dark 
marks  round  them,  had  the  hard  glitter  which  a  fixed  idea 
will  give  to  lonely  persons,  or  which  the  ardor  of  the  struggle 
imparts  to  the  bold  leaders  of  the  civilization  of  our  age. 
The  chevalier  was  the  only  person  with  whom  he  sometimes 
exchanged  his  ideas ;  he  had  discerned  in  this  old  man  an 
apostle  of  his  religion,  and  found  in  him  the  traces  of  a  never- 
dying  love. 

"Have  you  loved  many  women  in  your  life?"  he  asked, 


BEATRIX.  229 

the  second  time  that  he  and  the  old  navy  man  sailed  in  com- 
pany, as  the  captain  called  it,  up  and  down  the  mall. 

"  Only  one,"  said  the  captain. 

"Was  she  free?" 

"No,"  said  the  chevalier.  "Ah,  I  suffered  much!  She 
was  my  best  friend's  wife — my  patron's,  my  chief's;  but  we 
loved  each  other  so  much !  " 

"  She  loved  you,  then  ?  " 

"Passionately,"  replied  du  Halga  with  unwonted  vehem- 
ence. 

"  And  you  were  happy  ?  " 

"Till  her  death.  She  died  at  the  age  of  forty-nine,  an 
emigree  at  Saint-Petersburg;  the  climate  killed  her.  She 
must  be  very  cold  in  her  coffin  !  I  have  often  thought  of 
going  to  bring  her  away  and  lay  her  in  our  beloved  Brittany, 
near  me  !     But  she  rests  in  my  heart  ?  " 

The  chevalier  wiped  his  eyes ;  Calyste  took  his  hands  and 
pressed  them. 

"  I  cling  to  that  dog  more  than  to  my  life,"  said  he,  point- 
ing to  Thisbe.  "That  little  creature  is  in  every  particular 
exactly  like  the  dog  she  used  to  fondle  with  her  beautiful 
hands,  and  to  take  on  her  knees.  I  never  look  at  Thisbe 
without  seeing  Madame  de  Kergarouet's  hands." 

"  Have  you  seen  Madame  de  Rochefide?  "  asked  Calyste. 

"No,"  replied  du  Halga,  "It  is  fifty-eight  years  now 
since  I  looked  at  a  woman,  excepting  your  mother ;  there  is 
something  in  her  coloring  that  is  like  the  admiral's  wife." 

Three  days  later  the  chevalier  said  to  Calyste  as  they  met 
on  the  mall — 

"  My  boy,  all  I  have  in  the  world  is  a  hundred  and  eighty 
louis.  When  you  know  where  to  find  Madame  de  Rochefide, 
come  and  ask  me  for  them,  to  go  to  see  her." 

Calyste  thanked  the  old  man,  whose  life  he  envied.  But 
day  by  day  he  became  more  morose ;  he  seemed  to  care  for 
no  one ;  he  was  gentle  and  kind  only  to  his  mother.     The 


230  BEATRIX. 

Baroness  watched  the  progress  of  this  mania  with  increasing 
anxiety ;  she  alone,  by  much  entreaty,  could  persuade  Calyste 
to  take  some  nourishment. 

By  the  beginning  of  October  the  young  fellow  could  no 
longer  walk  on  the  mall  with  the  chevalier,  who  came  in  vain 
to  ask  him  out  with  an  old  man's  attempts  at  coaxing. 

"  We  will  talk  about  Madame  de  Rochefide,"  said  he.  "I 
will  tell  you  the  history  of  my  first  adventure.  Your  son  is 
very  ill,"  said  he  to  the  Baroness,  on  the  day  when  his 
urgency  proved  useless. 

Calyste  replied  to  all  who  questioned  him  that  he  was 
perfectly  well,  and,  like  all  melancholy  youths,  relished  the 
notion  of  death ;  but  he  never  left  the  house  now ;  he  sat 
in  the  garden  on  the  seat,  warming  himself  in  the  pale, 
mild  autumn  sunshine,  alone  with  his  thoughts,  and  avoid- 
ing all  company. 

After  the  day  when  Calyste  no  longer  went  to  call  on  her, 
Felicite  begged  the  cure  of  Guerande  to  go  to  see  her.  The 
Abbe  Grimont's  regularity  in  going  to  les  Touches  almost 
every  morning,  and  dining  there  from  time  to  time,  became 
the  news  of  the  moment ;  it  was  talked  of  in  all  the  neigh- 
borhood, and  even  at  Nantes.  However,  he  never  missed 
spending  the  evening  at  Guerande,  where  despair  reigned. 
Masters  and  servants,  all  were  grieved  by  Calyste's  obstinacy, 
though  they  did  not  think  him  in  any  danger.  It  never  oc- 
curred to  any  one  of  these  good  people  that  the  poor  youth 
could  die  of  love.  The  chevalier  had  no  record  of  such  a 
death  in  all  his  travels  or  reminiscences.  Everybody  ascribed 
Calyste's  emaciation  to  want  of  nutrition.  His  mother  would 
go  on  her  knees  to  beseech  him  to  eat.  To  please  her,  Ca- 
lyste tried  to  overcome  his  repugnance,  and  the  food  thus 
taken  against  his  will  added  to  the  low  fever  that  was  consum- 
ing the  handsome  boy. 

At  the  end  of  October  the  beloved  son  no  longer  went  up  to 


BEATRIX. 


231 


his  room  on  the  second  floor ;  he  had  his  bed  brought  down 
into  the  sitting-room,  and  lay  there  generally,  in  the  midst  of 
the  family,  who  at  last  sent  for  the  Guerande  doctor. 

The  medical  man  tried  to  check  the  fever  by  quinine,  and 
for  a  few  days  it  yielded  to  the  treatment.  The  doctor  also 
ordered  Calyste  to  take  exercise  and  to  amuse  himself.  The 
Baron  rallied  his  strength  and  shook  off  his  torpor ;  he  grew 
young  as  his  son  grew  old.  He  took  out  Calyste,  Gasselin, 
and  the  two  fine  sporting  dogs.  Calyste  obeyed  his  father, 
and  for  a  few  days  the  three  men  went  out  together;  they 
went  through  the  forest  and  visited  their  friends  in  neighbor- 
ing chateaux ;  but  Calyste  had  no  spirit,  no  one  could  beguile 
him  of  a  smile,  his  pale,  rigid  face  revealed  a  perfectly  passive 
creature. 

The  Baron,  broken  by  fatigue,  fell  into  a  state  of  collapse 
and  was  forced  to  come  home,  bringing  Calyste  with  him  in 
the  same  condition.  Within  a  few  days  both  father  and  son 
were  so  ill  that,  at  the  request  of  the  Guerande  doctor  him- 
self, the  two  first  physicians  of  Nantes  were  called  in.  The 
Baron  had  been  quite  knocked  over  by  the  visible  alteration 
in  Calyste.  With  the  terrible  prescience  that  nature  bestows 
on  the  dying,  he  trembled  like  a  child  at  the  thought  that  his 
family  would  be  extinct ;  he  said  nothing,  he  only  clasped 
his  hands,  praying  as  he  sat  in  his  chair,  to  which  he  was  tied 
by  weakness.  He  sat  facing  the  bed  occupied  by  Calyste, 
and  watched  him  constantly.  At  his  child's  slightest  move- 
ment he  was  greatly  agitated,  as  if  the  flame  of  his  life  were 
fluttered  by  it. 

The  Baroness  never  left  the  room,  and  old  Z^phirine  sat 
knitting  by  the  fire  in  a  state  of  agonizing  anxiety.  She  was 
constantly  being  asked  for  wood,  for  the  father  and  son  both 
felt  the  cold,  and  her  stores  were  invaded.  She  had  made  up 
her  mind  to  give  up  her  keys,  for  she  was  no  longer  brisk 
enough  to  go  with  Mariotte ;  but  she  insisted  on  knowing 
everything ;  every  minute  she  questioned  Mariotte  or  her  sis- 


232  BEATRIX. 

ter-in-law,  and  would  take  them  aside  to  hear  about  the  state 
of  her  brother  and  nephew. 

One  evening,  when  Calyste  and  his  father  were  dozing,  old 
Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hocl  remarked  that  they  would  no 
doubt  have  to  resign  themselves  to  losing  the  Baron,  whose 
face  was  quite  white,  and  had  assumed  a  waxen  look.  Made- 
moiselle du  Guenic  dropped  her  knitting,  fumbled  in  her 
pocket,  and  pulled  out  an  old  rosary  of  black  wooden  beads, 
which  she  proceeded  to  tell  with  a  fervency  that  gave  such  a 
glory  of  energy  to  her  ancient  parched  features  that  the  other 
old  maid  followed  her  example ;  and  then,  at  a  sign  from  the 
cure,  they  all  united  in  the  silent  exaltation  of  the  old  blind 
lady. 

"I  was  the  first  to  pray  to  God,"  said  the  Baroness,  re- 
membering the  fateful  letter  written  by  Calyste,  "but  He  did 
not  hear  me  !  " 

"Perhaps,"  said  the  Abbe  Grimont,  "we  should  be  wise 
to  beg  Mademoiselle  des  Touches  to  come  to  see  Calyste." 

"  She  !  "  cried  old  Zephirine,  "  the  author  of  all  our  woes, 
she  who  lured  him  away  from  his  family,  who  tore  him  from 
us,  who  made  him  read  impious  books,  who  taught  him  the 
language  of  heresy  !  Curse  her,  and  may  God  never  forgive 
her  !     She  has  crushed  the  du  Guenics  !  " 

"  She  may  perhaps  raise  them  up  again,"  said  the  cur6  in  a 
mild  voice.  "She  is  a  saintly  and  virtuous  woman:  I  am 
her  warranty.  She  has  none  but  good  intentions  as  regards 
Calyste.    May  she  be  able  to  realize  them  !  " 

"  Give  me  notice  the  day  she  is  to  set  foot  here,  and  I  will 
go  out,"  cried  the  old  lady.  "  She  has  killed  both  father  and 
son.  Do  you  suppose  I  cannot  hear  how  weak  Calyste's  voice 
is  ! — he  hardly  has  strength  to  speak." 

Just  then  the  three  physicians  came  in.  They  wearied 
Calyste  with  questions.  As  to  his  father,  their  examination 
was  brief;  they  knew  all  in  a  moment ;  the  only  wonder  was 
that  he  still  lived.     The  Gu6rande  doctor  quietly  explained 


BEATRIX.  233 

to  the  Baroness  that  it  would  probably  be  necessary  to  take 
Calyste  to  Paris  to  consult  the  most  eminent  authorities,  for 
that  it  would  cost  more  than  a  hundred  louis  to  bring  them  to 
Guerande. 

"A  man  must  die  of  something,  but  love  is  nothing,"  said 
Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel. 

"  Alas,  whatever  the  cause  may  be,  Calyste  is  dying,"  said 
his  mother.  "  I  recognize  every  symptom  of  consumption, 
the  most  horrible  malady  of  my  native  land." 

"Calyste  is  dying?"  said  the  Baron,  opening  his  eyes, 
whence  trickled  two  large  tears  which,  caught  in  the  many 
furrows  of  his  face,  slowly  fell  to  the  bottom  of  his  cheeks — 
the  only  tears,  no  doubt,  that  he  had  ever  shed  in  his  life. 

He  dragged  himself  on  to  his  feet,  shuffled  to  his  son's  bed, 
took  his  hands,  and  looked  at  him. 

"What  do  you  want,  father?"  said  the  boy. 

"  I  want  you  to  live  !  "  cried  the  Baron. 

"I  cannot  live  without  B^-atrix,"  said  Calyste  to  the  old 
man,  who  sank  back  into  his  chair. 

"Where  can  I  find  a  hundred  louis  to  fetch  the  doctors 
from  Paris?"  cried  the  Baroness.     "We  have  yet  time." 

**A  hundred  louis!"  exclaimed  Zephirine.  "Will  they 
save  him?" 

Without  waiting  for  her  sister-in-law's  reply,  the  old  woman 
put  her  hands  into  her  pocket-holes  and  untied  an  under  pet- 
ticoat, which  fell  with  a  heavy  sound.  She  knew  so  well 
where  she  had  sewn  in  her  louis  that  she  ripped  them  out 
with  a  rapidity  that  seemed  magical.  The  gold-pieces  rang 
as  they  dropped  one  by  one.  Old  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel 
looked  on  with  stupefied  amazement. 

"  They  can  see  you  !  "  she  whispered,  as  a  warning,  in  her 
friend's  ear. 

"Thirty-seven,"  said  Zephirine,  counting  the  gold. 

"  Every  one  will  know  how  much  you  have." 

"Forty-two." 


234  BEATRIX. 

"Double  louis,  and  all  new!  how  did  you  get  them,  you 
who  cannot  see  them? " 

"I  could  feel  them.  Here  are  a  hundred  and  four  louis," 
cried  Zephirine.     **  Is  that  enough?  " 

"What  are  you  doing?"  asked  the  Chevalier  du  Halga, 
coming  in,  and  unable  to  imagine  what  was  the  meaning  of 
the  old  lady's  holding  out  her  lap  full  of  louis  d'or. 

Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel  explained  the  case  in  two  words. 

**  I  had  heard  of  it,"  said  he,  "and  I  came  to  bring  you 
a  hundred  and  forty  louis  I  had  kept  at  Calyste's  service,  as 
he  knows." 

The  chevalier  took  out  of  his  pocket  two  rolls  of  coin, 
which  he  showed  them.  Mariotte,  seeing  all  these  riches, 
bid  Gasselin  lock  the  door. 

"Gold  will  not  restore  him  to  health,"  said  the  Baroness, 
in  tears. 

"But  it  may  enable  him  to  run  after  his  Marquise,"  said 
du  Halga.     "  Come,  Calyste  !  " 

Calyste  sat  up  in  bed,  and  exclaimed  gleefully — 

"Let  us  be  off!" 

"Then  he  will  live,"  said  the  Baron,  in  a  stricken  voice, 
"and  I  may  die.     Go  and  fetch  the  cure." 

These  words  struck  them  all  with  terror.  Calyste,  seeing 
his  father  turn  ghastly  pale  from  the  painful  agitation  of  this 
scene,  could  not  restrain  his  tears.  The  cur6,  who  knew  the 
decision  the  doctors  had  come  to,  had  gone  off  to  fetch 
Mademoiselle  des  Touches  ;  for  at  this  moment  he  displayed 
as  much  admiration  for  her  as  he  had  not  long  since  felt 
repugnance,  and  could  defend  her  as  a  pastor  defends  one  of 
the  favorites  of  his  flock. 

On  hearing  of  the  Baron's  desperate  extremity,  a  crowd 
gathered  in  the  little  street ;  the  peasants,  the  marshmen,  and 
the  townsfolk  all  kneeling  in  the  courtyard,  while  the  priest 
administered  the  last  sacrament  to  the  old  Breton  warrior. 
Everybody  was  deeply  touched  to  think  of  the  father  dying 


BE  A  TRIX.  2S5 

by  the  bed  of  his  sick  son.     The  extinction  of  the  old  family 

was  regarded  as  a  public  calamity. 

The  ceremony  struck  Calyste ;  for  a  while  his  grief  silenced 
his  passion.  All  through  the  death-struggles  of  this  heroic 
defender  of  the  monarchy  he  remained  on  his  knees,  watch- 
ing the  approach  of  death,  and  weeping. 

The  old  man  died  in  his  chair,  in  the  presence  of  the  as- 
sembled family. 

'*I  die  faithful  to  the  King  and  religion.  Great  God,  as 
the  reward  of  my  efforts,  let  Calyste  live !  "  he  said. 

"I  will  live,  father,  and  obey  you,"  replied  the  young 
man. 

"If  you  would  make  my  death  as  easy  as  Fanny  has  made 
my  life,  swear  that  you  will  marry." 

"  I  promise  it,  father." 

It  was  touching  to  see  Calyste,  or  rather  his  ghost,  leaning 
on  the  old  chevalier,  a  spectre  leading  a  shade,  following  the 
Baron's  bier  as  chief  mourner.  The  church  and  the  little 
square  before  the  porch  were  full  of  people,  who  had  come 
from  ten  leagues  round. 

The  Baroness  and  Z6phirine  were  deeply  grieved  when 
they  saw  that,  in  spite  of  his  efforts  to  obey  his  father, 
Calyste  was  still  sunk  in  an  ominous  stupor.  On  the  first  day 
of  their  mourning  the  Baroness  led  her  son  to  the  seat  at  the 
bottom  of  the  garden,  and  questioned  him.  Calyste  replied 
with  gentle  submissiveness,  but  his  answers  were  heartbreak- 
ing. 

"Mother,"  said  he,  "there  is  no  life  left  in  me;  what  I 
eat  does  not  nourish  me,  the  air  I  breathe  into  my  lungs  does 
not  renew  my  blood ;  the  sun  seems  cold  to  me,  and  when  it 
shines  for  you  on  the  front  of  the  house  as  at  this  moment, 
where  you  see  carvings  bathed  in  light  I  see  dim  forms 
wrapped  in  mist.  If  Beatrix  were  here,  all  would  be  bright 
once  more.  There  is  but  one  thing  in  the  world  that  has  her 
color  and  form — this  flower  and  these  leaves,"  and  he  drew 


236  BEATRIX. 

out  of  his  bosom  the  withered  blossoms  that  the  Marquise 
had  given  him. 

The  Baroness  dared  ask  him  no  more  ;  the  madness  be- 
trayed by  his  replies  seemed  worse  than  the  sorrow  of  his 
silence. 

But  Calyste  was  thrilled  as  he  caught  sight  of  Mademoiselle 
des  Touches  through  the  windows  at  opposite  ends  of  the 
room.  F61icite  reminded  him  of  Beatrix.  Thus  it  was  to 
her  that  the  two  women  owed  the  one  gleam  of  joy  that 
lightened  their  griefs. 

''Well,  Calyste,"  said  Mademoiselle  des  Touches,  when 
she  saw  him,  **  the  carriage  is  ready ;  we  will  go  together  and 
find  Beatrix.     Come." 

The  pale,  thin  face  of  the  boy,  all  in  black,  was  brightened 
by  a  flush,  and  a  smile  dawned  on  his  features. 

"We  will  save  him  !  "  said  Mademoiselle  des  Touches  to 
the  mother,  who  wrung  her  hand,  shedding  tears  of  joy. 

A  week  after  the  Baron's  death.  Mademoiselle  des  Touches, 
the  Baronne  du  Gudnic,  and  Calyste  set  out  for  Paris,  leaving 
the  business  matters  in  the  hands  of  old  mademoiselle. 

Felicite's  affection  for  Calyste  had  planned  a  brilliant  future 
for  the  poor  boy.  She  was  connected  with  the  Grandlieus, 
and  the  ducal  branch  was  ending  in  a  family  of  five  daughters. 
She  had  written  to  the  Duchesse  de  Grandlieu,  telling  her  the 
whole  story  of  Calyste,  and  announcing  her  intention  of  sell- 
ing her  house  in  the  Rue  du  Mont-Blanc,  for  which  a  com- 
pany of  speculators  had  offered  two  million  five  hundred 
thousand  francs.  Her  business  manager  had  already  bought 
for  her  one  of  the  finest  houses  in  the  Rue  de  Bourbon,  at  a 
cost  of  seven  hundred  thousand  francs.  Out  of  the  surplus 
money  from  the  sale  of  the  house  in  the  Rue  Mont-Blanc  she 
meant  to  devote  one  million  to  repurchasing  the  estates  of  the 
du  Gunnies,  and  would  leave  the  rest  of  her  fortune  among 
the  five  de  Grandlieu  girls. 


BEATRIX.  %a 

Felicity  knew  the  plans  made  by  the  Duke  and  Duchess, 
who  intended  that  their  youngest  daughter  should  marry  the 
Vicomte  de  Grandlieu,  the  heir  to  their  titles  ;  Clotilde-Fr6d- 
6rique,  the  second,  meant,  she  knew,  to  remain  unmarried, 
without  taking  the  veil,  however,  as  her  eldest  sister  had  done ; 
so  the  only  one  to  be  disposed  of  was  Sabine,  a  pretty  creature 
just  twenty  years  of  age,  on  whom  she  counted  to  cure  Calyste 
of  his  passion  for  Madame  de  Rochefide. 

During  their  journey  Felicity  told  Madame  du  Gu6nic  of 
all  these  plans.  The  house  in  the  Rue  de  Bourbon  was  now 
being  furnished,  and  in  it  Calyste  was  to  live  if  these  schemes 
should  succeed. 

They  all  three  went  straight  to  the  Hotel  Grandlieu,  where 
the  Baroness  was  received  with  all  the  respect  due  to  her 
name  as  a  girl  and  as  a  wife.  Mademoiselle  des  Touches,  of 
course,  advised  Calyste  to  see  all  he  could  of  Paris  while  she 
made  inquiries  as  to  where  Beatrix  might  be,  and  she  left  him 
to  the  fascinations  of  every  kind  which  awaited  him  there. 
The  Duchess,  her  daughters,  and  their  friends  did  the  honors 
of  the  capital  for  Calyste  just  at  the  season  when  it  was  begin- 
ning to  be  gayest. 

The  bustle  of  Paris  entirely  diverted  the  young  Breton's 
mind.  He  fancied  there  was  some  likeness  in  the  minds  of 
Madame  de  Rochefide  and  Sabine  de  Grandlieu,  who  at  that 
time  was  certainly  one  of  the  loveliest  and  most  charming 
girls  in  Paris  society,  and  he  thenceforward  paid  an  amount 
of  attention  to  her  advances  which  no  other  woman  would 
have  won  from  him.  Sabine  de  Grandlieu  played  her  part 
all  the  more  successfully  because  she  liked  Calyste. 

Matters  were  so  skillfully  managed  that,  in  the  course  of  the 
winter  of  1837,  the  young  Baron,  who  had  recovered  his  color 
and  youthful  beauty,  could  listen  without  disgust  when  his 
mother  reminded  him  of  his  promise  to  his  dying  father,  and 
spoke  of  his  marrying  Sabine  de  Grandlieu.  Still,  while 
keeping  his  promise,  he  concealed  an  indifference  which  the 


288  BEATRIX. 

Baroness  could  discern,  while  she  hoped  it  might  be  dispelled 
by  the  satisfactions  of  a  happy  home. 

On  the  day  when  the  Grandlieu  family  and  the  Baroness, 
supported  on  this  occasion  by  her  relations  from  England, 
held  a  sitting  in  the  large  drawing-room  of  the  Duke's  house, 
while  Leopold  Hannequin,  the  family  notary,  explained  the 
conditions  of  the  marriage-contract  before  reading  it  through, 
Calyste,  whose  brow  was  clouded,  as  all  could  see,  refused  point- 
blank  to  accept  the  benefactions  offered  to  him  by  Made- 
moiselle des  Touches.  He  still  trusted  to  Felicite's  devotion 
and  believed  that  she  was  seeking  Beatrix. 

At  this  moment,  in  the  midst  of  the  dismay  of  both 
families,  Sabine  came  in,  dressed  so  as  to  remind  Calyste  of 
the  Marquise  de  Rochefide,  though  her  complexion  was  dark, 
and  she  placed  in  Calyste' s  hand  the  following  letter  : 

Camille  to  Calyste. 

"  Calyste,  before  retiring  into  my  cell  as  a  novice,  I  may 
be  allowed  to  glance  back  at  the  world  I  am  quitting  to  enter 
the  world  of  prayer.  This  glance  is  solely  for  you,  who  in 
these  later  days  have  been  all  the  world  to  me.  My  voice  will 
reach  you,  if  I  have  calculated  exactly,  in  the  middle  of  a 
ceremony  which  I  could  not  possibly  witness.  On  the  day 
when  you  stand  before  the  altar,  to  give  your  hand  to  a  young 
and  lovely  girl  who  is  free  to  love  before  heaven  and  the 
world,  I  shall  be  in  a  religious  house  at  Nantes — before  the 
altar  too,  but  plighted  for  ever  to  Him  who  can  never  deceive 
nor  disappoint. 

"  I  write,  not  to  sadden  you,  but  to  beseech  you  not  to 
allow  any  false  delicacy  to  hinder  the  good  I  have  always 
wished  to  do  you  since  our  first  meeting.  Do  not  deny  the 
right  I  have  so  hardly  earned.  If  love  is  suffering,  then  I 
have  loved  you  well,  Calyste;  but  you  need  feel  no  remorse. 
The  only  pleasures  I  have  known  in  my  life  I  owe  to  you,  and 


BE  A  TJRIX. 


239 


the  pain  has  come  from  myself.  Compensate  me  for  all  this 
past  suffering  by  giving  me  one  eternal  joy.  Let  me,  dear, 
be  in  some  sort  a  perfume  in  the  flowers  of  your  life,  and 
mingle  with  it  always  without  being  importunate.  I  shall 
certainly  owe  to  you  my  happiness  in  life  eternal ;  will  you 
not  let  me  pay  my  debt  by  the  offering  of  some  transient  and 
perishable  possessions?  You  will  not  fail  in  generosity? 
You  will  not  regard  this  as  the  last  subterfuge  of  scorned 
love? 

"Calyste,  the  world  was  nothing  to  me  without  you;  you 
made  it  a  fearful  desert,  and  you  have  led  the  infidel  Camille 
Maupin,  the  writer  of  books  and  dramas,  which  I  shall 
solemnly  disown — you  have  led  that  audacious  and  perverted 
woman,  tied  hand  and  foot,  to  the  throne  of  God.  I  am 
now,  what  I  ought  always  to  have  been,  an  innocent  child. 
Yes,  I  have  washed  my  robes  in  the  tears  of  repentance,  and 
I  may  go  to  the  altar  presented  by  an  angel — by  my  dearly 
loved  Calyste  !  How  sweet  it  is  to  call  you  so — now  that  my 
resolution  has  sanctified  the  word.  I  love  you  without  self- 
interest,  as  a  mother  loves  her  son,  as  the  church  loves  her 
children.  I  can  pray  for  you  and  yours  without  the  infusion 
of  a  single  desire  but  that  for  your  happiness. 

**  If  you  knew  the  supreme  peace  in  which  I  live  after 
having  lifted  myself  by  thought  above  the  petty  interests  of 
the  world,  and  how  exquisite  is  the  feeling  of  having  done 
one's  duty,  in  accordance  with  your  noble  motto,  you  would 
enter  on  your  happy  life  with  a  firm  step,  nor  glance  behind 
nor  around  you.  So  I  am  writing  to  beseech  you  to  be  true 
to  yourself  and  to  your  family. 

"  My  dear,  the  society  in  which  you  must  live  cannot  exist 
without  the  religion  of  duty  ;  and  you  will  misunderstand  life, 
as  I  have  misunderstood  it,  if  you  give  yourself  up  to  passion 
and  to  fancy  as  I  have  done.  Woman  can  only  be  equal  with 
man  by  making  her  life  a  perpetual  sacrifice,  as  man's  must  be 
perpetual  action.     Now  my  life  has  been,  as  it  were,  one  long 


240  BEATRIX. 

outbreak  of  egoism.  God,  perhaps,  brought  you  in  its  evening 
to  my  door,  as  a  messenger  charged  with  my  punishment  and 
pardon.  Remember  this  confession  from  a  woman  to  whom 
fame  was  a  pharos  whose  light  showed  her  the  right  way.  Be 
great !  sacrifice  your  fancy  to  your  duties  as  the  head  of  a 
house,  as  husband  and  father.  Raise  the  downtrodden  banner 
of  the  old  du  Guenics ;  show  the  present  age,  when  principles 
and  religion  are  denied,  what  a  gentleman  may  be  in  all  his 
glory  and  distinction. 

"  Dear  child  of  my  soul,  let  me  play  the  mother  a  little : 
the  angelic  Fanny  will  not  be  jealous  of  a  woman  dead  to  the 
world,  of  whom  you  will  henceforth  know  nothing  but  that 
her  hands  are  always  raised  to  heaven.  In  these  days  the  no- 
bility need  fortune  more  than  ever,  so  accept  a  part  of  mine, 
dear  Calyste,  and  make  a  good  use  of  it.  It  is  not  a  gift ;  it 
is  trust-money.  I  am  thinking  more  of  your  children  and 
your  old  Breton  estate  than  of  yourself  when  I  offer  you  the 
interest  which  time  has  accumulated  for  me  on  my  Paris 
property. ' ' 

"I  am  ready  to  sign,"  said  the  young  Baron,  to  the  great 
delight  of  the  assembly. 


PART  in. 


RETROSPECTIVE   ADULTERY. 


The  week  after  this,  when  the  marriage  service  had  been 
celebrated  at  Saint-Thomas  d'Aquin,  at  seven  in  the  morning, 
as  was  the  custom  in  some  families  of  the  Faubourg  Saint- 
Germain — Calyste  and  Sabine  got  into  a  neat  traveling-car- 
riage in  the  midst  of  the  embracing,  congratulations,  and  tears 
of  a  score  of  persons  gathered  in  groups  under  the  awning  of 
the  Hotel  de  Grandlieu.  The  congratulations  were  offered 
by  the  witnesses  and  the  men  ;  the  tears  were  to  be  seen  in 
the  eyes  of  the  Duchesse  de  Grandlieu  and  her  daughter  Clo- 
tilde — both  tremulous,  and  from  the  same  reflection. 

"  Poor  Sabine  !  she  is  starting  in  life  at  the  mercy  of  a  man 
who  is  married  not  altogether  willingly." 

Marriage  does  not  consist  solely  of  pleasures,  which  are  as 
fugitive  under  those  conditions  as  under  any  others ;  it  in- 
volves a  consonance  of  tempers  and  physical  sympathies,  a 
concord  of  character,  which  make  this  social  necessity  an  ever- 
new  problem.  Girls  to  be  married  know  the  conditions  and 
dangers  of  this  lottery  fully  as  well  as  their  mothers  do ;  this 
is  why  women  shed  tears  as  they  look  on  at  a  marriage,  while 
men  smile ;  the  men  think  they  risk  nothing ;  the  women 
know  pretty  well  how  much  they  risk. 

In  another  carriage,  which  had  started  first,  was  the  Baronne 
du  Guenic,  to  whom  the  Duchess  had  said  at  parting — 

"You  are  a  mother  though  you  have  only  a  son.  Try  to 
fill  my  place  to  my  darling  Sabine." 

On  the  box  of  that  carriage  sat  a  groom,  serving  as  a  courier, 
and  behind  it  two  ladies'-maids.  The  four  postillions,  in 
splendid  liveries — each  carriage  having  four  horses — all  had 
nosegays  in  their  button-holes  and  favors  in  their  hats.     The 

-^v   16  (241) 


242  BEATRIX. 

Due  de  Grandlieu,  even  by  paying  them,  had  the  greatest  dif- 
ficulty in  persuading  them  to  remove  the  ribbons.  The 
French  postillion  is  eminently  intelligent,  but  he  loves  his 
joke ;  and  these  took  the  money  and  replaced  the  favors  out- 
side the  city  walls. 

"  Well,  well,  good-by,  Sabine  !  "  said  the  Duchess.  "  Re- 
member your  promise,  and  write  often.  Calyste,  I  say  no 
more,  but  you  understand  me." 

Clotilde,  leaning  on  the  arm  of  her  youngest  sister  Athenai's, 
who  was  smiling  at  the  Vicomte  Juste  de  Grandlieu,  gave  the 
bride  a  keen  glance  through  her  tears  and  watched  the  carriage 
till  it  disappeared  amid  the  repeated  salvoes  of  four  postillions' 
whips,  noisier  than  pistol-shots.  In  a  very  short  time  the  gay 
procession  reached  the  Esplanade  of  the  Invalides,  followed 
the  quay  to  the  Pont  d'lena,  the  Passy  Gate,  the  Versailles 
avenue,  and,  finally,  the  high-road  to  Brittany. 

Is  it  not  strange,  to  say  the  least,  that  the  artisan  class  of 
Switzerland  and  Germany,  and  the  greatest  families  of  France 
and  England,  obey  the  same  custom,  and  start  on  a  journey 
after  the  nuptial  ceremony  ?  The  rich  pack  themselves  into 
a  box  on  wheels.  The  poor  walk  gayly  along  the  roads,  resting 
in  the  woods,  feeding  at  every  inn,  so  long  as  their  glee,  or 
rather  their  money,  holds  out.  A  moralist  would  find  it  diffi- 
cult to  decide  which  is  the  finest  flower  of  modesty — that 
which  hides  from  the  public  eye,  inaugurating  the  domestic 
hearth  and  bed  as  the  worthy  citizen  does,  or  that  which  flies 
from  the  family  and  displays  itself  in  the  fierce  light  of  the 
high-road  to  the  eyes  of  strangers?  Refined  natures  must 
crave  for  solitude,  and  avoid  the  world  and  the  family  alike. 
The  rush  of  love  that  begins  a  marriage  is  a  diamond,  a  pearl, 
a  gem  cut  by  the  highest  of  all  arts,  a  treasure  to  be  buried 
deep  in  the  heart. 

Who  could  tell  the  tale  of  a  honeymoon  except  the  bride  ? 
And  how  many  women  would  here  admit  that  this  period  of 
uncertain  duration — sometimes  of  only  a  single  night — is  the 


BEATRIX.  243 

preface  to  married  life?  Sabine's  first  three  letters  to  her 
mother  betrayed  a  state  of  things  which,  unfortunately,  will 
not  seem  new  to  some  young  wives,  nor  to  many  old  women. 
All  who  have  become  sick-nurses,  so  to  speak,  to  a  man's 
heart  have  not  found  it  out  so  quickly  as  Sabine  did.  But 
the  girls  of  the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain,  when  they  are  keen- 
witted, are  women  already  in  mind.  Before  marriage  they 
have  received  the  baptism  of  fine  manners  from  the  world  and 
from  their  mothers.  Duchesses,  anxious  to  perpetuate  the 
tradition,  are  often  unaware  of  all  the  bearings  of  their  les- 
sons when  they  say  to  their  daughters — "No  one  ever  does 
that."  "Do  not  laugh  at  such  things."  "  You  must  never 
fling  yourself  on  a  sofa,  you  must  sit  down  quietly."  "  Never 
do  such  a  thing  again."  "It  is  most  incorrect,  my  dear !  " 
and  so  forth. 

And  critical  middle-class  folk  refuse  to  recognize  any  inno- 
cence or  virtue  in  young  creatures  who,  like  Sabine,  are  virgin 
souls,  but  perfected  by  cleverness,  by  the  habits  of  good  style, 
and  good  taste,  knowing  from  the  age  of  sixteen  how  to  use 
an  opera-glass.  Sabine,  to  lend  herself  to  Mademoiselle  des 
Touches'  schemes  for  her  marriage,  could  not  but  be  of  the 
school  of  Mademoiselle  de  Chaulieu.  This  innate  mother-wit, 
these  gifts  of  birth,  may  perhaps  make  this  young  wife  as  in- 
teresting as  the  heroine  of  the  "Memoires  de  deux  jeunes 
Mariees  "  (Letters  of  Two  Brides),  in  which  we  see  the  vanity 
of  such  social  advantages  in  the  great  crises  of  married  life, 
where  they  are  often  crushed  under  the  double  weight  of  un- 
happiness  and  passion. 

I. 

To  Madame  la  Duchesse  de  Grandlieu. 

GufeRANDE,  April,    1 838. 

"  Dear  Mother  :— You  can  easily  understand  why  I  did 
not  write  to  you  on  the  journey;  one's  mind  turns  like  the 


244  BEATRIX. 

wheels.  So  here  I  have  been  these  two  days  in  the  depths  of 
Brittany,  at  the  Hotel  du  Guenic,  a  house  carved  all  over  like 
a  cocoanut-box.  Notwithstanding  the  affectionate  attentions 
of  Calyste's  family,  I  feel  an  eager  longing  to  fly  away  to 
you  and  tell  you  a  thousand  things  which  I  feel  can  only  be 
told  to  a  mother. 

**  Dear  mamma,  Calyste  married  me  cherishing  a  great  sor- 
sow  in  his  soul ;  we  all  of  us  knew  it,  and  you  did  not  disguise 
the  difficulties  of  my  position ;  but,  alas  !  they  are  greater 
than  you  imagined.  Oh,  dear  mamma,  how  much  experience 
we  may  acquire  in  a  few  days — why  should  I  not  say  to  you  in 
a  few  hours  ?  All  your  counsels  proved  useless,  and  you  will 
understand  why  by  this  simple  fact :  I  love  Calyste  as  if  he 
were  not  my  husband.  That  is  to  say,  if  I  were  married  to 
another  man  and  were  traveling  with  Calyste,  I  should  love 
him  and  hate  my  husband.  Consider  him,  then,  as  a  man 
loved  entirely,  involuntarily,  absolutely,  and  as  many  more 
adverbs  as  you  choose  to  supply.  So,  in  spite  of  your  warn- 
ings, my  slavery  is  an  established  fact. 

**  You  advised  me  to  keep  myself  lofty,  haughty,  dignified, 
and  proud,  in  order  to  bring  Calyste  to  a  state  of  feeling 
which  should  never  undergo  any  change  throughout  life  ;  in 
the  esteem  and  respect  which  onust  sanctify  the  wife  in  the 
home  and  family.  You  spoke  warmly,  and  with  reason,  no 
doubt,  against  the  young  women  of  the  day  who,  under  the 
excuse  of  living  on  good  terms  with  their  husbands,  begin  by 
being  docile,  obliging,  submissive,  with  a  familiarity,  a  free- 
and-easiness  which  are,  in  your  opinion,  rather  too  cheap — a 
word  I  own  to  not  understanding  yet,  but  we  shall  see  by- 
and-by — and  which,  if  you  are  right,  are  only  the  early  and 
rapid  stages  toward  indifference  and,  perhaps,  contempt. 

"'Remember  that  you  are  a  Grandlieu,*  you  said  in  my 
ear. 

"  This  advice,  full  of  the  maternal  eloquence  of  Dedalus, 
has  shared  the  fate  of  mythological  things.     Dear,  darling 


BEATRIX.  245 

mother,  could  you  believe  that  I  should  begin  by  the  catas- 
trophe which,  according  to  you,  closes  the  honeymoon  of  the 
young  wives  of  our  day? 

**  When  Calyste  and  I  were  alone  in  the  carriage,  each 
thought  the  other  as  silly  as  himself,  as  we  both  perceived  the 
importance  of  the  first  word,  the  first  look ;  and  each,  bewil- 
dered by  the  marriage  sacrament,  sat  looking  out  of  a  window. 
It  was  so  preposterous  that,  as  we  got  near  the  city  gate, 
monsieur  made  me  a  little  speech  in  a  rather  broken  voice — a 
speech  prepared,  no  doubt,  like  all  extempore  efforts,  to 
which  I  listened  with  a  beating  heart,  and  which  I  take  the 
liberty  of  epitomizing  for  your  benefit. 

"'My  dear  Sabine,'  said  he,  'I  wish  you  to  be  happy, 
and,  above  all,  to  be  happy  in  your  own  way,'  he  added.  'In 
our  position,  instead  of  deceiving  each  other  as  to  our  charac- 
ters and  sentiments,  by  magnanimous  concessions,  let  us  both 
be  now  what  we  should  be  a  few  years  hence.  Regard  me  as 
being  your  brother,  as  I  would  wish  to  find  a  sister  in  you.* 

"  Though  this  was  most  delicately  meant,  I  did  not  find  in 
this  first  speech  of  married  love  anything  answering  to  the 
eagerness  of  my  soul,  and,  after  replying  that  I  felt  quite  as 
he  did,  I  remained  pensive.  After  this  declaration  of  rights 
to  be  equally  cold,  we  talked  of  the  weather,  the  dust,  the 
houses,  and  the  scenery  with  the  most  gracious  politeness,  I 
laughing  a  rather  forced  laugh,  he  lost  in  dreams. 

"  Finally,  as  we  left  Versailles,  I  asked  Calyste  point-blank 
— calling  him  *  my  dear  Calyste,'  as  he  called  me  'my  dear 
Sabine ' — if  he  could  tell  me  the  history  of  the  events  which 
had  brought  him  to  death's  door,  and  to  which  I  owed  the 
honor  of  being  his  wife.  He  hesitated  for  a  long  time.  In 
fact,  it  was  the  subject  of  a  little  discussion  lasting  through 
three  stages ;  I  trying  to  play  the  part  of  a  willful  girl  deter- 
mined to  sulk;  he  debating  with  himself  on  the  ominous 
question  asked  as  a  challenge  to  Charles  X.  by  the  public 
press :  *  Will  the  King  give  in  ? '     At  last,  when  we  had  left 


246  BEATRIX. 

Verneuil,  and  after  swearing  often  enough  to  satisfy  three 
dynasties  that  I  would  never  remind  him  of  his  folly,  never 
treat  him  coldly,  and  so  on,  he  painted  his  passion  for 
Madame  de  Rochefide  :  'I  do  not  wish,'  he  said,  in  conclu- 
sion, *  that  there  should  be  any  secrets  between  us.' 

"  Poor  dear  Calyste  did  not  know,  I  suppose,  that  his  friend 
Mademoiselle  des  Touches  and  you  had  been  obliged  to  tell 
me  all  j  for  a  girl  cannot  be  dressed  as  I  was  on  the  day  of 
the  contract  without  being  taught  her  part. 

"I  cannot  but  tell  everything  to  so  good  a  mother  as  you 
are.  Well,  then,  I  was  deeply  hurt  at  seeing  that  he  had 
yielded  far  less  to  my  request  than  to  his  own  wish  to  talk 
about  the  unknown  object  of  his  passion.  Will  you  blame 
me,  dearest  mother,  for  having  wanted  to  know  the  extent  of 
this  sorrow,  of  the  aching  wound  in  his  heart  of  which  you 
had  told  me? 

"  Thus,  within  eight  hours  of  having  been  blessed  by  the 
cure  of  Saint-Thomas  d'Aquin,  your  Sabine  found  herself  in 
the  rather  false  position  of  a  young  wife  hearing  from  her 
husband's  own  lips  his  confidences  as  to  a  cheated  passion 
and  the  misdeeds  of  a  rival.  Yes,  I  was  playing  a  part  in  the 
drama  of  a  young  wife,  officially  informed  that  she  owed  her 
marriage  to  the  disdain  of  an  old  beauty ! 

*'  By  this  narrative  I  gained  what  I  sought.  *  What  ? '  you 
will  ask.  Oh,  my  dear  mother !  on  clocks  and  chimney  carv- 
ings I  have  often  enough  seen  Loves  leading  each  other  on, 
hand  in  hand,  to  put  the  lesson  into  practice  !  Calyste  ended 
the  romance  of  his  memories  with  the  most  vehement  protes- 
tations that  he  had  entirely  gotten  over  what  he  called  his  mad- 
ness. Every  protest  needs  a  signature.  The  happy  hapless 
one  took  my  hand,  pressed  it  to  his  lips,  and  then  held  it  for 
a  long  time.  A  declaration  followed.  This  one  seemed  to 
me  more  suitable  than  the  first  to  our  position  as  man  and 
wife,  though  our  lips  did  not  utter  a  single  word.  This  hap- 
piness I  owed  to  my  spirited  indignation  against  the  bad  taste 


BEATRIX.  247 

of  a  woman  so  stupid  as  not  to  love  my  handsome  and  delight- 
ful Calyste. 

"  I  am  called  away  to  play  a  game  of  cards,  which  I  have 
not  yet  mastered.  I  will  continue  my  letter  to-morrow.  That 
I  should  have  to  leave  you  just  now  to  make  the  fifth  at  a 
game  oimouche  !  Such  a  thing  is  impossible  anywhere  but  in 
the  depths  of  Brittany. 

"May. 

"  I  resume  the  tale  of  my  Odyssey.  By  the  third  day  your 
children  had  dropped  the  ceremonial  vous  (you)  and  adopted 
the  loverlike  fu  (thou).  My  mother-in-law,  delighted  to  see 
us  happy,  tried  to  fill  your  place,  dearest  mother ;  and,  as  is 
always  the  case  with  those  who  take  a  part  with  the  idea  of 
effacing  past  impressions,  she  is  so  delightful  that  she  has  been 
almost  as  much  to  me  as  you  could  be.  She,  no  doubt, 
guessed  how  heroic  my  conduct  was ;  at  the  beginning  of  our 
journey  she  hid  her  anxiety  too  carefully  not  to  betray  it  by 
her  excessive  precautions. 

"  When  I  caught  sight  of  the  towers  of  Gu6rande  I  said  in 
your  son-in-law's  ear,  *  Have  you  quite  forgotten  her?' 

"And  my  husband,  now  my  angel,  had  perhaps  never 
known  the  depth  of  an  artless  and  genuine  affection,  for  that 
little  speech  made  him  almost  crazy  with  joy. 

"  Unluckily  my  desire  to  make  him  forget  Madame  de 
Rochefide  led  me  too  far.  How  could  I  help  it !  I  love  him, 
and  I  am  almost  Portuguese,  for  I  am  like  you  rather  than  my 
father.  Calyste  accepted  everything,  as  spoilt  children  do; 
he  is  above  everything  an  only  son.  Between  you  and  me,  I 
will  never  let  my  daughter — if  I  ever  should  have  a  daughter — 
marry  an  only  son.  It  is  quite  enough  to  have  to  manage  one 
tyrant,  and  in  an  only  son  there  are  several.  And  so  we 
exchanged  parts;  I  played  the  devoted  wife.  There  are 
dangers  in  self-devotion  to  gain  an  end  ;  it  is  loss  of  dignity. 
So  I  have  to  announce  the  wreck  in  me  of  that  semi-virtue; 


248  BEATRIX. 

dignity  is  really  no  more  than  a  screen  set  up  by  pride,  behind 
which  we  may  fume  at  our  ease.  How  could  I  help  myself, 
mamma ;  you  were  not  here,  and  I  looked  into  a  gulf.  If  I 
had  maintained  my  dignity,  I  should  have  known  the  chill 
pangs  of  a  sort  of  brotherliness,  which  would  certainly  have 
become  simple  indifference.  And  what  future  would  have 
lain  before  me  ? 

"As  a  result  of  my  devotion,  I  am  Calyste's  slave.  Shall 
I  get  out  of  that  position  ?  We  shall  see  ;  for  the  present  I 
like  it.  I  love  Calyste — I  love  him  entirely  with  the  frenzy 
of  a  mother  who  thinks  everything  right  that  her  son  can  do, 
even  when  he  punishes  her  a  little. 

"May  15. 

**  So  far,  dear  mother,  marriage  has  come  to  me  in  a  most 
attractive  form.  I  lavish  all  my  tenderest  affection  on  the 
handsomest  of  men,  who  was  thrown  over  by  a  fool  for  the 
sake  of  a  wretched  singer — for  the  woman  is  evidently  a  fool, 
and  a  fool  in  cold  blood,  the  worst  sort  of  fool.  I  am  chari- 
table in  my  lawful  passion,  and  heal  his  scars  while  inflicting 
eternal  wounds  on  myself.  Yes,  for  the  more  I  love  Calyste, 
the  more  I  feel  that  I  should  die  of  grief  if  anything  put  an 
end  to  our  present  happiness.  And  I  am  worshiped,  too,  by 
all  the  family,  and  by  the  little  company  that  meets  at  the 
Hotel  du  Guenic,  all  of  them  born  figures  in  some  ancient 
tapestry,  and  having  stepped  out  of  it  to  show  that  the  im- 
possible can  exist.  One  day  when  I  am  alone  I  will  describe 
them  to  you — Aunt  Z6phirine,  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel, 
the  Chevalier  du  Halga,  the  Demoiselles  de  Kergarouet,  and 
the  rest,  down  to  the  two  servants,  whom  I  shall  be  allowed, 
I  hope,  to  take  to  Paris — Mariotte  and  Gasselin,  who  regard 
me  as  an  angel  alighted  on  earth  from  heaven,  and  who  are 
still  startled  when  I  speak  to  them — they  are  all  figures  to  put 
under  glass  shades. 

"  My  mother-in-law  solemnly  installed  us  in  the  rooms  she 


BEATRIX.  249 

and  her  deceased  husband  had  formerly  inhabited.  The 
scene  was  a  touching  one.  *  I  lived  all  my  married  life  here,' 
said  she,  *  quite  happy.  May  that  be  a  happy  omen  for  you, 
my  dear  children  !  '  And  she  has  taken  Calyste's  room. 
The  saintly  woman  seemed  to  wish  to  divest  herself  of  her 
memories  and  her  admirable  life  as  a  wife  to  endow  us  with 
them. 

"The  Province  of  Brittany,  this  town,  this  family  with  its 
antique  manners— the  whole  thing,  in  spite  of  the  absurdities, 
which  are  invisible  to  any  but  a  mocking  Parisian  woman,  has 
something  indescribably  grandiose,  even  in  its  details,  to  be 
expressed  only  by  the  word  sacred.  The  tenants  of  the  vast 
estates  of  the  du  Gunnies,  repurchased,  as  you  know,  by 
Mademoiselle  des  Touches — whom  we  are  to  visit  in  the  con- 
vent— all  came  out  to  receive  us.  These  good  folk  in  their 
holiday  dresses,  expressing  the  greatest  joy  at  greeting  Calyste 
as  really  their  master  once  more,  made  me  understand  what 
Brittany  is,  and  feudality,  and  old  France.  It  was  a  festival 
I  will  not  write  about ;  I  will  tell  you  when  we  meet.  The 
terms  of  all  the  leases  have  been  proposed  by  the  tenants 
themselves,  and  we  are  to  sign  after  the  tour  of  inspection  we 
are  to  make  round  our  lands  that  have  been  pledged  this 
century  and  a  half.  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel  tells  us  that 
these  yeomen  have  assessed  the  returns  with  an  accuracy  that 
Paris  folk  would  not  believe  in.  We  are  to  start  three  days 
hence  and  ride  everywhere. 

"On  my  return  I  will  write  again,  dear  mother;  but  what 
can  I  have  to  say  to  you,  since  my.  happiness  is  already  com- 
plete ?  So  I  must  write  what  you  know  already,  namely,  how 
much  I  love  you." 


260  BEATRIX. 

II. 

From  the  same  to  the  same. 

"  Nantes,  June. 

"After  playing  the  part  of  the  Lady  of  the  Castle,  wor- 
shiped by  her  vassals  as  though  the  revolutions  of  1830  and 
1789  had  never  torn  down  our  banners;  after  riding  through 
woods,  halting  at  farms,  dining  at  old  tables  spread  with 
cloths  a  century  old,  and  groaning  under  Homeric  dishes 
served  in  antediluvian  plate;  after  drinking  delicious  wine 
out  of  goblets  like  those  we  see  in  the  hands  of  conjurers; 
after  salvoes  fired  at  dessert,  and  deafening  shouts  of  '  Vive 
les  du  Guenics ! '  and  balls,  where  the  orchestra  is  a  bagpipe, 
which  a  man  blows  at  for  ten  hours  on  end  !  and  such  bou- 
quets !  and  brides  who  insist  on  having  our  blessing !  and 
healthy  fatigue,  cured  by  such  sleep  as  I  had  never  known, 
and  a  delicious  waking  to  love  as  radiant  as  the  sun  that 
shines  above  us,  twinkling  on  a  myriad  insects  that  hum  in 
genuine  Bretagne  !  Finally,  after  a  grotesque  visit  to  the  Cas- 
tle of  du  Guenic,  where  the  windows  are  open  gates,  and  the 
cows  might  pasture  on  the  grass  grown  in  the  halls ;  but  we 
have  vowed  to  restore  it,  and  furnish  it,  so  as  to  come  here 
every  year  and  be  hailed  by  the  vassals  of  the  clan,  one  of 
whom  carried  our  banner.     Ouf !  here  I  am  at  Nantes. 

"What  a  day  we  had  when  we  went  to  le  Guenic!  The 
priest  and  all  the  clergy  came  out  to  meet  us,  all  crowned 
with  flowers,  mother,  and  blessed  us  with  such  joy !  The 
tears  come  into  my  eyes  as  I  write  about  it.  And  my  lordly 
Calyste  played  his  part  as  a  liege  like  a  figure  of  Walter 
Scott's.  Monsieur  received  homage  as  if  we  had  stepped 
back  into  the  thirteenth  century.  I  heard  girls  and  women 
saying,  *  What  a  handsome  master  we  have !  *  just  like  the 
chorus  of  a  comic  opera. 

"The  old   folk  discussed    Calyste's   likeness   to  the   du 


BEATRIX.  251 

Gudnics  whom  they  had  known.  Oh !  Brittany  is  a  noble 
and  sublime  country,  a  land  of  faith  and  religion.  But  prog- 
ress has  an  eye  on  it ;  bridges  and  roads  are  to  be  made,  ideas 
will  invade  it,  and  farewell  to  the  sublime.  The  peasants 
will  certainly  cease  to  be  as  free  and  proud  as  I  saw  them 
when  it  has  been  proved  to  them  that  they  are  Calvste's 
equals,  if,  indeed,  they  can  be  brought  to  believe  it. 

"So  after  the  poetry  of  this  pacific  restoration,  when  we 
had  signed  the  leases  we  left  that  delightful  country,  flowery 
and  smiling,  gloomy  and  barren  by  turns,  and  we  came  here 
to  kneel  before  her,  to  whom  we  owe  our  good  fortune,  and 
give  her  thanks.  Calyste  and  I  both  felt  the  need  to  thank 
the  novice  of  the  visitation.  In  memory  of  her  he  will  bear 
on  his  shield  quarterly  the  arms  of  des  Touches :  party  per 
pale  engrailed  or  and  vert.  He  will  assume  one  of  the  silver 
eagles  as  a  supporter,  and  place  in  its  beak  the  pretty  womanly 
motto,  'Souviegne-vous.^  So  we  went  yesterday  to  the  Con- 
vent of  the  Ladies  of  the  Visitation,  conducted  by  the  Abb6 
Grimont,  a  friend  of  the  Gu6nic  family ;  he  told  us  that  your 
beloved  Felicity,  dear  mamma,  is  a  saint;  indeed,  she  can  be 
no  less  to  him,  since  this  illustrious  conversion  has  led  to  his 
being  made  vicar-general  of  the  diocese.  Mademoiselle  des 
Touches  would  not  see  Calyste ;  she  received  me  alone.  I 
found  her  a  little  altered,  paler  and  thinner;  she  seemed  ex- 
tremely pleased  by  my  visit. 

"'Tell  Calyste,'  said  she  in  a  low  voice,  'that  my  not 
seeing  him  is  a  matter  of  conscience  and  self-discipline,  for  I 
have  permission  ;  but  I  would  rather  not  purchase  the  happi- 
ness of  a  few  minutes  with  months  of  suffering !  Oh,  if  you 
could  only  know  how  difficult  I  find  it  to  answer  when  I  am 
asked,  *'  What  are  you  thinking  about  ?  "  The  mistress  of  the 
novices  can  never  understand  the  vastness  and  multiplicity  of 
the  ideas  which  rush  through  my  brain  like  a  whirlwind. 
Sometimes  I  see  Italy  once  more,  or  Paris,  with  all  their  dis- 
play, always  with  Calyste,  who,'  she  said  with  the  poetic  turn 


252  BEATRIX. 

you  know  so  well,  *  is  the  sun  of  ray  memory.  I  was  too  old 
to  be  admitted  to  the  Carmelites,  so  I  chose  the  order  of 
Saint  Francis  de  Sales,  solely  because  he  said,  **  I  will  have 
you  bareheaded  instead  of  barefoot  !  "  disapproving  of  such 
austerities  as  only  mortify  the  body.  In  fact,  the  head  is  the 
sinner.  The  holy  bishop  did  well  to  make  his  rule  stern  to 
the  brain  and  merciless  to  the  will !  This  was  what  I  needed, 
for  my  mind  is  the  real  culprit ;  it  deceived  me  as  to  my  heart 
till  the  age  of  forty,  when,  though  we  are  sometimes  for  a 
moment  forty  times  happier  than  younger  women,  we  are  some- 
times fifty  times  more  wretched.  Well,  my  child,  and  are 
you  happy  ? '  she  ended  by  asking  me,  evidently  glad  to  say 
no  more  about  herself. 

"  'You  see  me  in  a  rapture  of  love  and  happiness,'  I  told 
her. 

'*  *  Calyste  is  as  kind  and  genuine  as  he  is  noble  and  hand- 
some,' she  said  gravely.  'You  are  my  heiress;  you  have, 
beside  my  fortune,  the  twofold  ideal  of  which  I  dreamed.  I 
am  glad  of  what  I  have  done,'  she  added  after  a  pause, 
*  Now,  my  child,  do  not  be  blinded.  You  have  easily 
grasped  happiness,  you  had  only  to  put  out  your  hand  ;  now 
try  to  keep  it.  If  you  had  come  here  merely  to  carry  away 
the  advice  of  my  experience,  your  journey  would  be  well 
rewarded.  Calyste  at  this  moment  is  fired  by  an  infection  of 
passion ;  you  did  not  inspire  it.  To  make  your  happiness 
durable,  dear  child,  strive  to  add  this  element  to  the  former 
one.  In  your  own  interest  and  your  husband's,  try  to  be 
capricious,  coy,  a  little  severe  if  necessary.  I  do  not  advise 
a  spirit  of  odious  calculation,  nor  tyranny,  but  the  science  of 
conduct.  Between  usury  and  extravagance  there  is  economy. 
Learn  to  acquire  a  certain  decent  control  of  your  husband. 

** '  These  are  the  last  worldly  words  I  shall  ever  speak  ;  I 
have  been  waiting  to  say  them  to  you,  for  my  conscience 
quaked  at  the  notion  of  having  sacrificed  you  to  save  Calyste  ; 
attach  him  to  you,  give  him  children,  let  him  respect  you  as 


BE  A  TRIX. 


253 


their  mother.  Finally,'  she  added  in  an  agitated  voice, 
*  manage  that  he  shall  never  see  Beatrix  again  ! ' 

* '  This  name  was  enough  to  produce  a  sort  of  torpor  in  us 
both ;  we  remained  looking  into  each  other's  eyes,  exchanging 
our  vague  sentiments  of  uneasiness. 

**  *  Are  you  going  home  to  Guerande? '  she  asked.       ' 

«« '  Yes,'  said  I. 

"  'Well,  never  go  to  les  Touches.  I  was  wrong  to  give 
you  the  place.' 

"•Why?' 

"  *  Child,  les  Touches  is  for  you  a  Bluebeard's  cupboard, 
for  there  is  nothing  so  dangerous  as  again  rousing  a  sleeping 
passion.' 

"I  have  given  you  the  substance  of  our  conversation,  my 
dear  mother.  If  Mademoiselle  des  Touches  made  me  talk, 
on  the  other  hand  she  gave  me  much  to  think  about — all  the 
more  because  in  the  excitement  of  our  travels,  and  my  happi- 
ness with  my  Calyste,  I  had  forgotten  the  serious  matter  of 
which  I  spoke  in  my  first  letter. 

"After  admiring  Nantes,  a  delightful  and  splendid  city; 
after  going  to  see,  in  the  Place  de  Bretagne,  the  spot  where 
Charette  so  nobly  fell,  we  arranged  to  return  to  Saint-Nazaire 
down  the  Loire,  since  we  had  already  gone  from  Nantes  to 
Guerande  by  the  road.  Public  traveling  is  an  invention  of 
the  modern  monster  the  Monopole.  Two  rather  pretty 
women  belonging  to  Nantes  were  behaving  rather  noisily  on 
deck,  suffering  evidently  from  Kergarouetism — ^a  jest  you  will 
understand  when  I  shall  have  told  you  what  the  Kergarouets 
are.  Calyste  behaved  very  well.  Like  a  true  gentleman,  he 
did  not  parade  me  as  his  wife.  Though  pleased  by  his  good 
taste,  like  a  child  with  his  first  drum,  I  thought  this  an  admir- 
able opportunity  for  practicing  the  system  recommended  by 
Camille  Maupin — for  it  was  certainly  not  the  novice  that  had 
spoken  to  me.  I  put  on  a  little  sulky  face,  and  Calyste  was 
very  flatteringly  distressed.     In  reply  to  his  question,  whis- 


254  BEATRIX. 

pered  in  my  ear,  '  What  is  the  matter  ? '  I  answered  the 
truth — 

**  *  Nothing  whatever.' 

"And  I  could  judge  at  once  how  little  effect  the  truth  has 
in  the  first  instance.  Falsehood  is  a  decisive  weapon  in  cases 
where  rapidity  is  the  only  salvation  for  a  woman  or  an  empire. 
Calyste  became  very  urgent,  very  anxious.  I  led  him  to  the 
forepart  of  the  boat,  among  a  mass  of  ropes,  and  there,  in  a 
voice  full  of  alarms,  if  not  of  tears,  I  told  him  all  the  woes 
and  fears  of  a  woman  whose  husband  happens  to  be  the  hand- 
somest of  men. 

"  *  Oh,  Calyste  ! '  said  I,  *  there  is  one  dreadful  blot  on  our 
marriage.  You  did  not  love  me ;  you  did  not  choose  me ! 
You  did  not  stand  fixed  like  a  statue  when  you  saw  me  for  the 
first  time.  My  heart,  my  attachment,  my  tenderness  cry  out 
to  you  for  affection,  and  some  day  you  will  punish  me  for 
having  been  the  first  to  offer  the  treasure  of  my  pure  and  in- 
voluntary girlish  love  !  I  ought  to  be  grudging  and  capri- 
cious, but  I  have  no  strength  for  it  against  you.  If  that  odious 
woman  who  scorned  you  had  been  in  my  place  now,  you 
would  not  even  have  seen  those  two  hideous  provincial  crea- 
tures who  would  be  classed  with  cattle  by  the  Paris  octroi.  '* 

"  Calyste,  my  dear  mother,  had  tears  in  his  eyes,  and 
turned  away  to  hide  them ;  he  saw  la  Basse  Indre,  and  ran  to 
desire  the  captain  to  put  us  on  shore.  No  one  can  hold  out 
against  such  a  response,  especially  as  it  was  followed  by  a  stay 
of  three  hours  in  a  little  country  inn,  where  we  breakfasted 
off  fresh  fish,  in  a  little  room  such  as  genre  painters  love, 
while  through  the  windows  came  the  roar  of  the  ironworks  of 
Indret  across  the  broad  waters  of  the  Loire.  Seeing  the  happy 
result  of  the  experiments  of  experience,  I  exclaimed,  *Oh, 
sweet  Felicite ! ' 

"  Calyste,  who  of  course  knew  nothing  of  the  advice  I  had 
received,  or  of  the  artfulness  of  my  behavior,  fell  into  a  de- 
*  Tax-collectors  at  the  city  gates. 


BEATRIX.  256 

lightful  punning  blunder  by  replying,  '  Never  let  us  forget  it ! 
We  will  send  an  artist  here  to  sketch  the  scene.' 

"I  laughed,  dear  mamma! — well,  I  laughed  until  Calyste 
was  quite  disconcerted  and  on  the  point  of  being  angry. 

"  '  Yes,'  said  I,  *  but  there  is  in  my  heart  a  picture  of  this 
landscape,  of  this  scene,  which  nothing  can  ever  efface,  and 
inimitable  in  its  color,' 

"Indeed,  mother,  I  find  it  impossible  to  give  my  love  the 
appearance  of  a  warfare  or  hostility.  Calyste  can  do  what  he 
likes  with  me.  That  tear  is,  I  believe,  the  first  he  ever  be- 
stowed on  me  j  is  it  not  worth  more  than  a  second  declaration 
of  a  wife's  rights?  A  heartless  woman,  after  the  scene  on  the 
boat,  would  have  been  mistress  of  the  situation ;  I  lost  all  I 
had  gained.  By  your  system,  the  more  I  am  a  wife,  the  more 
I  become  a  sort  of  harlot,  for  I  am  a  coward  in  happiness;  I 
cannot  hold  out  against  a  glance  from  my  lord.  I  do  not 
abandon  myself  to  love ;  I  hug  it  as  a  mother  clasps  her  child 
to  her  breast  for  fear  of  some  harm." 


III. 

From  the  same  to  the  same. 

"July,  GutRANDE. 

"  Oh  !  my  dear  mother,  to  be  jealous  after  three  months 
of  married  life  !  My  heart  is  indeed  full.  I  feel  the  deepest 
hatred  and  the  deepest  love.  I  am  worse  than  deserted,  I 
am  not  loved  !  Happy  am  I  to  have  a  mother,  another  heart 
to  which  I  may  cry  at  my  ease. 

"  To  us  wives  who  are  still  to  some  extent  girls,  it  is  quite 
enough  to  be  told — '  Here,  among  the  keys  of  your  palace,  is 
one  all  rusty  with  remembrance ;  go  where  you  will,  enjoy 
everything,  but  beware  of  visiting  les  Touches  ' — to  make  us 
rush  in  hot-foot,  our  eyes  full  of  Eve's  curiosity.  What  a 
provoking  element  Mademoiselle  des  Touches  had  infused 


256  BEATRIX. 

into  my  love  !  And  why  was  I  forbidden  les  Touches?  What ! 
does  such  happiness  as  mine  hang  on  an  excursion,  on  a  visit 
to  an  old  house  in  Brittany?  What  have  I  to  fear?  In  short, 
add  to  Mrs.  Bluebeard's  reasons  the  craving  that  gnaws  at 
every  woman's  heart  to  know  whether  her  power  is  precarious 
or  durable,  and  you  will  understand  why  one  day  I  asked, 
with  an  air  of  indifference — 

** '  What  sort  of  place  is  les  Touches  ?  ' 

"  '  Les  Touches  is  your  own,'  said  my  adorable  mother-in- 
law. 

"  '  Ah  !     If  only  Calyste  had  never  set  his  foot  there  ! ' 

said  Aunt  Zephirine,  shaking  her  head. 

"  *  He  would  not  now  be  my  husband,'  said  I. 

"  *  Then  you  know  what  happened  there  ? '  thus  my  mother- 
in-law,  sharply. 

'* '  It  is  a  place  of  perdition,'  said  Mademoiselle  de  Pen- 
Hoel.  '  Mademoiselle  des  Touches  committed  many  sins 
there,  for  which  she  now  begs  forgiveness  of  God.' 

"'And  has  it  not  saved  that  noble  creature's  soul,  beside 
making  the  fortune  of  the  convent  ? '  cried  the  Chevalier  du 
Halga.  *  The  Abbe  Grimont  tells  me  that  she  has  given  a 
hundred  thousand  francs  to  the  Ladies  of  the  Visitation.' 

"  '  Would  you  like  to  go  to  les  Touches  ?  '  said  the  Baroness. 
*  It  is  worth  seeing.' 

"  *  No,  no  !  '  cried  I,  eagerly. 

"  Now,  does  not  this  little  scene  strike  you  as  taken  from 
some  diabolical  drama?  And  it  was  repeated  under  a  hun- 
dred pretenses.     At  last  my  mother-in-law  said — 

"  '  I  understand  why  you  should  not  wish  to  go  to  les 
Touches.     You  are  quite  right.' 

"  Confess,  dear  mamma,  that  such  a  stab,  so  unintentionally 
given,  would  have  made  you  determine  that  you  must  know 
whether  your  happiness  really  rested  on  so  frail  a  basis  that  it 
must  perish  under  one  particular  roof?  I  must  do  this  justice 
to  Calyste,  he  had  never  proposed  to  visit  this  retreat  which 


BEATRIX.  287 

is  now  his  property.     Certainly  when  we  love,  we  become 
bereft  of  our  senses,  for  his  silence  and  reserve  nettled  me, 
till  I  said  one  day,   '  What  are  you  afraid  of  seeing  at  les 
Touches  that  you  never  mention  it  even  ? ' 
"  'Let  us  go  there,*  said  he. 

"  I  was  caught,  as  every  woman  is  who  wishes  to  be  caught, 
and  who  trusts  to  chance  to  cut  the  Gordian  knot  of  her 
hesitancy.     So  we  went  to  les  Touches. 

"It  is  a  delightful  spot,  most  artistically  tasteful,  and  I 
revel  in  the  abyss  whither  Mademoiselle  des  Touches  had 
warned  me  never  to  go.  All  poison-flowers  are  beautiful. 
The  devil  sows  them — for  there  are  flowers  of  Satan's  and 
flowers  from  God  !  We  have  only  to  look  into  our  own 
hearts  to  see  that  they  went  halves  in  the  work  of  creation. 
What  bitter-sweet  joys  I  found  in  this  place  where  I  played, 
not  with  fire,  but  with  ashes.  I  watched  Calyste ;  I  wanted 
to  know  if  every  spark  was  dead,  and  looked  out  for  every 
chance  draught  of  air,  believe  me  !  I  noted  his  face  as  we 
went  from  room  to  room,  from  one  piece  of  furniture  to  an- 
other, exactly  like  children  seeking  some  hidden  object.  He 
seemed  thoughtful ;  still,  at  first,  I  fancied  I  had  conquered. 
I  felt  brave  enough  to  speak  of  Madame  de  Rochefide,  who, 
since  the  adventure  of  her  fall  at  le  Croisic,  is  called  Roche- 
perfide.  Finally,  we  went  to  look  at  the  famous  box-shrub  on 
which  Beatrix  was  caught  when  Calyste  pushed  her  into  the 
sea  that  she  might  never  belong  to  any  man. 

"  '  She  must  be  very  light  to  have  rested  there ! '  said  I, 
laughing. 

**  Calyste  said  nothing.     *  Peace  to  the  dead,'  I  added. 

"  Still  he  was  silent.     *  Have  I  vexed  you? '  I  asked. 

"  *  No.     But  do  not  galvanize  that  passion,'  he  replied. 

"  What  a  speech !  Calyste,  seeing  it  had  saddened  me, 
was  doubly  kind  and  tender  to  me. 


17 


969  BEATRIX. 

"August. 

"  Alas !  I  was  at  the  bottom  of  the  pit  and  amusing  myself, 
like  the  innocents  in  a  melodrama,  with  plucking  the  flowers. 
Suddenly  a  horrible  idea  came  galloping  across  my  happiness 
like  the  horse  in  the  German  ballad.  I  fancied  I  could  dis- 
cern that  Calyste's  love  was  fed  by  his  reminiscences,  that  he 
was  wreaking  on  me  the  storms  I  could  revive  in  him,  by  re- 
minding him  of  that  horrible  coquette  Beatrix.  That  unwhole- 
some, cold,  limp,  tenacious  nature — akin  to  the  mollusc  and 
the  coral  insect — dares  to  be  called  Beatrix ! 

"  So  already,  dear  mother,  I  am  forced  to  have  an  eye  on  a 
suspicion  when  my  heart  is  wholly  Calyste's,  and  is  it  not  a 
terrible  misfortune  that  the  eye  should  get  the  better  of  the 
heart ;  that  the  suspicion,  in  short,  has  been  justified  ?  And 
in  this  way — 

"  *  I  love  this  place,'  I  said  to  Calyste  one  morning,  *  for  I 
owe  my  happiness  to  it — so  I  forgive  you  for  sometimes  mis- 
taking me  for  another  woman ' 

"  My  loyal  Breton  colored,  and  I  threw  my  arms  round  his 
neck ;  but  I  came  away  from  les  Touches,  and  shall  never  go 
back  there. 

**  The  depth  of  my  hatred,  which  makes  me  long  for  the 
death  of  Madame  de  Rochefide — oh  dear,  a  natural  death,  of 
course,  from  a  cold,  or  some  accident — revealed  to  me  the 
extent  and  vehemence  of  my  love  for  Calyste.  This  woman 
has  haunted  my  slumbers ;  I  have  seen  her  in  my  dreams. 
Am  I  fated  to  meet  her?  Yes,  the  novice  in  the  convent  was 
right ;  les  Touches  is  a  fatal  spot.  Calyste  renewed  his  im- 
pressions there,  and  they  are  stronger  than  the  pleasures  of 
our  love. 

"  Find  out,  my  dear  mother,  whether  Madame  de  Rochefide 
is  in  Paris ;  for,  if  so,  I  shall  remain  on  our  estates  in  Brittany. 
Poor  Mademoiselle  des  Touches,  who  is  now  sorry  that  she 
dressed  me  like  Beatrix  on  the  day  when  our  marriage-contract 
was  signed,  to  carry  out  her  scheme — if  she  could  now  know 


BEATRIX.  959 

how  completely  I  am  a  substitute  for  our  odious  rival !  What 
would  she  say  ?  Why,  it  is  prostitution  !  I  am  no  longer 
myself !  I  am  put  to  shame.  I  am  suffering  from  a  mad 
desire  to  flee  from  Guerande  and  the  sands  of  le  Croisic. 

"August  25. 
**  I  am  quite  resolved  to  return  to  the  ruins  of  le  Gu6nic. 

Calyste,  troubled  at  seeing  me  so  uneasy,  is  taking  me  thither. 
Either  he  does  not  know  much  of  the  world  or  he  guesses 
nothing ;  or,  if  he  knows  the  reason  of  my  flight,  he  does  not 
love  me.  I  am  so  afraid  of  discovering  the  hideous  certainty 
if  I  seek  it,  that,  like  the  children,  I  cover  my  eyes  with  my 
hands  not  to  hear  the  explosion.  Oh,  mother !  I  am  not 
loved  with  such  love  as  I  feel  in  my  own  heart.  Calyste,  to 
be  sure,  is  charming  ;  but  what  man  short  of  a  monster  would 
not  be,  like  Calyste,  amiable  and  gracious,  when  he  is  given 
all  the  opening  blossoms  of  the  soul  of  a  girl  of  twenty, 
brought  up  by  you,  pure  as  I  am,  and  loving,  and — as  many 
•women  have  told  you — very  pretty " 

"  Le  GufiNIC,  September  \%th. 

♦'Has  he  forgotten  her?  This  is  the  one  thought  which 
echoes  like  remorse  in  my  soul.  Dear  mother,  has  every  wife, 
like  me,  some  such  memory  to  contend  with  ?  Pure  girls  ought  to 
marry  none  but  innocent  youths  !  And  yet  that  is  an  illusory 
Utopia ;  and  it  is  better  to  have  a  rival  in  the  past  than  in 
the  future.  Pity  me,  mamma,  though  at  this  moment  I  am 
happy ;  happy  as  a  woman  is  who  fears  to  lose  her  happiness 
and  clings  to  it !— a  way  of  killing  it  sometimes,  says  wise 
Clotilde. 

"  I  perceive  that  for  the  last  five  months  I  have  thought 
only  of  myself;  that  is,  of  Calyste.  Tell  my  sister  Clotilde 
that  the  dicta  of  her  melancholy  wisdom  recur  to  me  some- 
times. She  is  happy  in  being  faithful  to  the  dead ;  she  need 
fear  no  rival. 


280  BEATRIX. 

**  A  kiss  to  my  dear  AthenaTs  ;  I  see  that  Juste  is  madly  in 
love  with  her.  From  what  you  say  in  your  last  letter,  all  he 
fears  is  that  he  may  not  win  her.  Cultivate  that  fear  as  a 
precious  flower.  Athena'is  will  be  mistress ;  I,  who  dreaded 
lest  I  should  not  win  Calyste  from  himself,  shall  be  the  hand- 
maid. A  thousand  loves,  dearest  mother.  Indeed,  if  my 
fears  should  not  prove  vain,  I  shall  have  paid  very  dear  for 
Camille  Maupin's  fortune.  Affectionate  respects  to  my 
father." 

These  letters  fully  explain  the  secret  attitude  of  this  hus- 
band and  wife.  Where  Sabine  saw  a  love-match,  Calyste  saw 
a  manage  de  convenance.  And  the  joys  of  the  honeymoon 
had  not  altogether  fulfilled  the  requirements  of  the  law  as  to 
community  of  goods. 

During  their  stay  in  Brittany  the  work  of  restoring,  ar- 
ranging, and  decorating  the  Hotel  du  Guenic  in  Paris  had 
been  carried  on  by  the  famous  architect  Grindot,  under  the 
eye  of  Clotilde  and  the  Duchesse  and  Due  de  Grandlieu. 
Every  step  was  taken  to  enable  the  young  couple  to  return  to 
Paris  in  December,  1838;  and  Sabine  was  glad  to  settle  in  the 
Rue  de  Bourbon,  less  for  the  pleasure  of  being  mistress  of 
the  house  than  to  discover  what  her  family  thought  of  her 
married  life.  Calyste,  handsome  and  indifferent,  readily  al- 
lowed himself  to  be  guided  in  matters  of  fashion  by  Clotilde 
and  his  mother-in-law,  who  were  gratified  by  his  docility. 
He  filled  the  place  in  the  world  to  which  his  name,  his  for- 
tune, and  his  connection  entitled  him.  His  wife's  success, 
regarded  as  she  was  as  one  of  the  most  charming  women  of 
the  year,  the  amusements  of  the  best  society,  duties  to  be 
done,  and  the  dissipations  of  a  Paris  season,  somewhat  re- 
cruited the  happiness  of  the  young  couple  by  supplying 
excitement  and  interludes.  The  Duchesse  and  Clotilde  be- 
lieved in  Sabine's  happiness,  ascribing  Calyste's  cold  manners 
to  his  English  blood,  and  the  young  wife  got  over  her  gloomy 


BEATRIX.  aSl 

notions ;  she  heard  herself  envied  by  so  many  less  happy 
wives,  that  she  banished  her  terrors  to  the  limbo  of  bad 
dreams.  Finally,  Sabine's  prospect  of  motherhood  was  the 
crowning  guarantee  for  the  future  of  this  neutral-tinted  union, 
a  good  augury  on  which  women  of  experience  rely. 

In  October,  1839,  the  young  Baronne  du  Guenic  had  a  son, 
and  was  so  foolish  as  to  nurse  him  herself,  like  almost  every 
woman  under  similar  circumstances.  How  can  she  help  being 
wholly  a  mother  when  her  child  is  the  child  of  a  husband  so 
truly  idolized  ?  Thus  by  the  end  of  the  following  summer 
Sabine  was  preparing  to  wean  her  first  child. 

In  the  course  of  a  two  years'  residence  in  Paris,  Calyste 
had  entirely  shed  the  innocence  which  had  cast  the  light  of 
its  prestige  on  his  first  experience  in  the  world  of  passion. 
Calyste,  as  the  comrade  of  the  young  Due  de  Maufrigneuse — 
like  himself,  lately  married  to  an  heiress,  Berthe  de  Cinq-Cygne 
— of  the  Vicomte  Savinien  de  Portendu^re,  of  the  Due  and 
Duchesse  de  Rhetore,  the  Due  and  Duchesse  de  Lenoncourt- 
Chaulieu,  and  all  the  company  that  met  in  his  mother-in-law's 
drawing-room,  learned  to  see  the  differences  that  divide  pro- 
vincial from  Paris  life.  Wealth  has  its  dark  hours,  its  tracts 
of  idleness,  for  which  Paris,  better  than  any  other  capital,  can 
provide  amusement,  diversion,  and  interest.  Hence,  under 
the  influence  of  these  young  husbands,  who  would  leave  the 
noblest  and  most  beautiful  creatures  for  the  delights  of  the 
cigar  or  of  whist,  for  the  sublime  conversation  at  a  club  or 
the  absorbing  interests  of  the  turf,  many  of  the  domestic 
virtues  were  undermined  in  the  young  Breton  husband.  The 
maternal  instinct  in  a  woman  who  cannot  endure  to  bore  her 
husband  is  always  ready  to  support  young  married  men  in 
their  dissipations.  A  woman  is  so  proud  of  seeing  the  man 
she  leaves  perfectly  free  come  back  to  her  side. 

One  evening,  in  October  this  j'ear,  to  escape  the  cries  of  a 
weaned  child,  Calyste — on  whose  brow  Sabine  could  not  bear 
to  see  a  cloud — was  advised  by  her  to  go  to  the  Thdatre  des 


262  BE  A  TRIX. 

Varidt^s,  where  a  new  piece  was  being  acted.  The  servant 
sent  to  secure  a  stall  had  taken  one  quite  near  to  the  stage- 
boxes.  Between  the  first  and  second  acts,  Calyste,  looking 
about  him,  saw  in  one  of  these  boxes  on  the  ground  tier,  not 
four  yards  away,  Madame  de  Rochefide. 

Beatrix  in  Paris !  Beatrix  in  public !  The  two  ideas 
pierced  Calyste's  brain  like  two  arrows.  He  could  see  her 
again  after  nearly  three  years  !  Who  can  describe  the  com- 
motion in  the  soul  of  this  lover  who,  far  from  forgetting,  had 
sometimes  so  completely  identified  Beatrix  with  his  wife  that 
Sabine  had  been  conscious  of  it  ?  Who  can  understand  how 
this  poem  of  a  lost  and  misprized  love,  ever  living  in  the 
heart  of  Sabine's  husband,  overshadowed  the  young  wife's 
dutifiil  charms  and  ineffable  tenderness?  Beatrix  became 
light,  the  day-star,  excitement,  life,  the  unknown ;  while 
Sabine  was  duty,  darkness,  the  familiar  !  In  that  instant  one 
was  pleasure,  the  other  satiety.     It  was  a  thunderbolt. 

Sabine's  husband  in  a  loyal  impulse  felt  a  noble  prompting 
to  leave  the  house.  As  he  went  out  from  the  stalls,  the  door 
of  the  box  was  open,  and  in  spite  of  himself  his  feet  carried 
him  in.  He  found  Beatrix  between  two  very  distinguished 
men,  Canalis  and  Nathan — a  politician  and  a  literary  celeb- 
rity. During  nearly  three  years,  since  Calyste  had  last  seen 
Madame  de  Rochefide,  she  had  altered  very  much ;  but 
though  the  metamorphosis  had  changed  the  woman's  nature, 
she  seemed  all  the  more  poetical  and  attractive  in  Calyste's 
eyes.  Up  to  the  age  of  thirty,  clothing  is  all  a  pretty  Paris- 
ian demands  of  dress  ;  but  when  she  has  crossed  the  threshold 
of  the  thirties,  she  looks  to  finery  for  armor,  fascinations,  and 
embellishment ;  she  composes  it  to  lend  her  graces ;  she  finds 
a  purpose  in  it,  assumes  a  character,  makes  herself  young 
again,  studies  the  smallest  accessories — in  short,  abandons 
nature  for  art. 

Madame  de  Rochefide  had  just  gone  through  the  changing 
scenes  of  the  drama  which,  in  this  history  of  the  manners  of 


BEATRIX.  263 

the  French  in  the  nineteenth  century,  is  called  "  The  De- 
serted Woman."  Conti  having  thrown  her  over,  she  had 
naturally  become  a  great  artist  in  dress,  in  flirtation,  and  in 
artificial  bloom  of  every  description. 

"How  is  it  that  Conti  is  not  here?"  asked  Calyste  of 
Canalis  in  a  whisper,  after  the  commonplace  greetings  which 
begin  the  most  momentous  meeting  when  it  takes  place  in 
public. 

The  erewhile  poet  of  the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain,  twice 
minister,  and  now  for  the  fourth  time  a  speaker  hoping  for 
fresh  promotion,  laid  his  finger  with  meaning  on  his  lips. 
This  explained  all. 

"  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you,"  said  Beatrix,  in  a  kittenish 
way.  **  I  said  to  myself  as  soon  as  I  saw  you,  before  you  saw 
me,  that  you,  at  any  rate,  would  not  disown  me  !  Oh,  my 
Calyste  !  "  she  murmured  in  his  ear,  "why  are  you  married? 
— and  to  such  a  little  fool,  too  !  " 

As  soon  as  a  woman  whispers  to  a  new-comer  in  her  box, 
and  makes  him  sit  down  by  her,  men  of  breeding  always  find 
some  excuse  for  leaving  them  together. 

"Are  you  coming,  Nathan?"  said  Canalis;  "Madame  la 
Marquise  will  excuse  me  if  I  go  to  speak  a  word  to  d'Arthez, 
whom  I  see  with  the  Princesse  de  Cadignan,  I  must  talk 
about  a  combination  of  speakers  for  to-morrow's  sitting." 

This  retreat,  effected  with  good  taste,  gave  Calyste  a  chance 
of  recovering  from  the  shock  he  had  sustained  ;  but  he  lost 
all  his  remaining  strength  and  presence  of  mind  as  he  inhaled 
the,  to  him,  intoxicating  and  poisonous  fragrance  of  the  poem 
called  Beatrix. 

Madame  de  Rochefide,  who  had  grown  bony  and  stringy, 
whose  complexion  was  almost  ruined,  thin,  faded,  with  dark 
circles  around  her  eyes,  had  that  evening  wreathed  the  un- 
timely ruin  with  the  most  ingenious  devices  of  Parisian  frip- 
pery. Like  all  deserted  women,  she  had  tried  to  give  herself 
a  virgin  grace,  and  by  the  effect  of  various  white  draperies  to 


264  BEATRIX. 

recall  the  maidens  of  Ossian,  with  names  ending  in  tf,  so  poet- 
ically represented  by  Girodet.  Her  fair  hair  fell  about  her 
long  face  in  bunches  of  curls,  reflecting  the  flare  of  the  foot- 
lights in  the  sheen  of  scented  oil.  Her  pale  forehead  shone ; 
she  had  applied  an  imperceptible  touch  of  rouge  over  the  dull 
whiteness  of  her  skin,  bathed  in  bran-water,  and  its  brilliancy 
cheated  the  eye.  A  scarf,  so  fine  that  it  was  hard  to  believe 
that  man  could  have  woven  it  of  silk,  was  wound  about  her 
neck  so  as  to  diminish  its  length  by  hiding  it,  and  barely 
revealing  the  treasures  enticingly  displayed  by  her  stays.  The 
bodice  was  a  masterpiece  of  art.  As  to  her  attitude,  it  is 
enough  to  say  that  it  was  well  worth  the  pains  she  had  taken 
to  elaborate  it.  Her  arms,  lean  and  hard,  were  scarcely 
visible  through  the  carefully  arranged  puffs  of  her  wide  sleeves. 
She  presented  that  mixture  of  false  glitter  and  sheeny  silk,  of 
flowing  gauze  and  frizzled  hair,  of  liveliness,  coolness,  and 
movement  which  has  been  called  yV  ne  sais  quoi.'^  Every  one 
knows  what  is  meant  by  thisy>  ne  sais  quoi.  It  is  a  compound 
of  cleverness,  taste,  and  temperament.  Beatrix  was,  in  fact,  a 
drama,  a  spectacle,  all  scenery,  and  transformations,  and  mar- 
velous machinery. 

The  performance  of  these  fairy  pieces,  which  are  no  less 
brilliant  in  dialogue,  turns  the  head  of  a  man  blessed  with 
honesty ;  for,  by  the  law  of  contrast,  he  feels  a  frenzied  desire 
to  play  with  the  artificial  thing.  It  is  false  and  seductive, 
elaborate,  but  pleasing,  and  there  are  men  who  adore  these 
women  who  play  at  being  charming  as  one  plays  a  game  of 
cards.  This  is  the  reason — man's  desire  is  a  syllogism,  and 
argues  from  this  external  skill  to  the  secret  theorems  of  volup- 
tuous enjoyment.  The  mind  concludes,  though  not  in  words, 
*'  A  woman  who  can  make  herself  so  attractive  must  have 
other  resources  of  passion."  And  it  is  true.  The  women 
who  are  deserted  are  the  women  who  love ;  the  women  who 
keep  their  lovers  are  those  know  how  to  love.     Now,  though 

*  I  know  not  what. 


BEATRIX.  286 

this  lesson  in  Italian  had  been  a  hard  one  for  Beatrix's  vanity, 
her  nature  was  too  thoroughly  artificial  not  to  profit  by  it. 

*'  It  is  not  a  matter  of  loving  you  men,"  she  had  been  say- 
ing some  minutes  before  Calyste  went  in  ;  "  we  have  to  worry 
you  when  we  have  got  you  ;  that  is  the  secret  of  keeping  you. 
Dragons  who  guard  treasures  are  armed  with  talons  and 
wings !  " 

"  Your  idea  might  be  put  into  a  sonnet,"  Canalis  was  saying 
just  as  Calyste  entered  the  box. 

At  one  glance  Beatrix  read  Calyste's  condition ;  she  saw, 
still  fresh  and  raw,  the  marks  of  the  collar  she  had  put  on  him 
at  les  Touches.  Calyste,  offended  by  her  phrase  about  his 
wife,  hesitated  between  his  dignity  as  a  husband,  defending 
Sabine,  and  finding  a  sharp  word  to  cast  on  the  heart  whence, 
for  him,  arose  such  fragrant  reminiscences — a  heart  he  believed 
to  be  yet  bleeding.  The  Marquise  discerned  this  hesitancy ; 
she  had  spoken  thus  solely  to  gauge  the  extent  of  her  power 
over  Calyste,  and,  seeing  him  so  weak,  she  came  to  his  assist- 
ance to  get  him  out  of  his  difficulty. 

"Well,  my  friend,"  said  she,  when  the  two  courtiers  had 
left,  "  you  see  me  alone — yes,  alone  in  the  world  !  " 

"And  you  never  thought  of  me?"  said  Calyste. 

"  You  ?  "  she  replied  ;  "  are  you  not  married  ?  It  has  been 
one  of  my  great  griefs  among  the  many  I  have  endured  since 
we  last  met.  '  Not  merely  have  I  lost  love,'  I  said  to  myself, 
'but  friendship,  too,  a  friendship  I  believed  to  be  wholly 
Breton.'  We  get  used  to  anything.  I  now  suffer  less,  but  I 
am  broken.  This  is  the  first  time  for  a  long  while  that  I  have 
unburdened  my  heart.  Compelled  to  be  reserved  in  the 
presence  of  indifferent  persons,  and  as  arrogant  to  those  who 
court  me  as  though  I  had  never  fallen,  and  having  lost  my 
dear  F6licit6,  I  have  no  ear  into  which  to  breathe  the  words, 
*  I  am  wretched  !  '  And  even  now,  can  I  tell  you  what  my 
anguish  was  when  I  saw  you  a  few  yards  away  from  me,  not 
recognizing  me ;  or  what  my  joy  is  at  seeing  you  close  to  me? 


266  BEATRIX. 

Yes,"  said  she,  at  a  movement  on  Calyste's  part,  **  it  is  almost 
fidelity  !  In  this  you  see  what  misfortune  means  !  A  nothing, 
a  visit,  is  everything. 

"Yes,  you  really  loved  me,  as  I  deserved  to  be  loved  by 
the  man  who  has  chosen  to  trample  on  all  the  treasures  I  cast 
at  his  feet.  And,  alas  !  to  my  woe,  I  cannot  forget ;  I  love, 
and  I  mean  to  be  true  to  the  past,  which  can  never  return." 

As  she  poured  out  this  speech,  a  hundred  times  rehearsed, 
she  used  her  eyes  in  such  a  way  as  to  double  the  effect  of 
words  which  seemed  to  surge  up  from  her  soul  with  the  vio- 
lence of  a  long-restrained  torrent.  Calyste,  instead  of  speak- 
ing, let  fall  the  tears  that  had  been  gathering  in  his  eyes. 
Beatrix  took  his  hand  and  pressed  it,  making  him  turn  pale. 

"  Thank  you,  Calyste  ;  thank  you,  my  poor  boy ;  that  is 
the  way  a  true  friend  should  respond  to  a  friend's  sorrow. 
We  understand  each  other.  There,  do  not  add  another  word  ! 
Go  now ',  if  we  were  seen,  you  might  cause  your  wife  grief  if 
by  chance  any  one  told  her  that  we  had  met — though  inno- 
cently enough,  in  the  face  of  a  thousand  people.     Good-by,  I 

am  brave,  you  see "     And  she  wiped  her  eyes  by  what 

should  be  called  in  feminine  rhetoric  the  antithesis  of  action. 

"Leave  me  to  laugh  the  laugh  of  the  damned  with  the 
people  I  do  not  care  for,  but  who  amuse  me,"  she  went  on. 
"I  see  artists  and  writers,  the  circle  that  I  knew  at  our  poor 
Camille's — she  was  right,  no  doubt !  Enrich  the  man  you 
love,  and  then  disappear,  saying,  *  I  am  too  old  for  him  !  '  It 
is  to  die  a  martyr.  And  that  is  best  when  one  cannot  die  a 
virgin." 

She  laughed,  as  if  to  efface  the  melancholy  impression  she 
might  have  made  on  her  adorer. 

"  But  where  can  I  call  on  you?  "  asked  Calyste. 

"  I  have  hidden  myself  in  the  Rue  de  Courcelles,  close  to 
the  Pare  Monceaux,  in  a  tiny  house  suited  to  my  fortune,  and 
I  cram  my  brain  with  literature — but  for  my  own  satisfaction 
only,  to  amuse  myself.     Heaven  preserve  me  from  the  mania 


BEATRIX.  anr 

of  writing  !  Go,  leave  me ;  I  do  not  want  to  be  talked  about, 
and  what  will  not  people  say  if  they  see  us  together?  And, 
beside,  Calyste,  I  tell  you,  if  you  stay  a  minute  longer  I  shall 
cry,  for  I  can't  help  it." 

Calyste  withdrew,  after  giving  his  hand  to  Beatrix,  and 
feeling  a  second  time  the  deep  strange  sensation  of  a  pressure 
on  both  sides  full  of  suggestive  incitement. 

"  My  God  !  Sabine  never  stirred  my  heart  like  this,"  was 
the  thought  that  assailed  him  in  the  corridor. 

Throughout  the  rest  of  the  evening  the  Marquise  de  Roche- 
fide  did  not  look  three  times  straight  at  Calyste ;  but  she  sent 
him  side-glances  which  rent  the  soul  of  the  man  who  had  given 
himself  up  wholly  to  his  first  and  rejected  love. 

When  the  Baron  du  Guenic  was  at  home  again,  the  magnifi- 
cence of  his  rooms  reminded  him  of  the  sort  of  mediocrity 
to  which  Beatrix  had  alluded,  and  he  felt  a  hatred  for  the 
fortune  that  did  not  belong  to  that  fallen  angel.  On  hearing 
that  Sabine  had  been  in  bed  some  time,  he  was  happy  in 
having  a  night  to  himself  to  live  in  his  emotions. 

He  now  cursed  the  perspicacity  given  to  Sabine  by  her 
affection.  When  it  happens  that  a  man  is  adored  by  his  wife, 
she  can  read  his  face  like  a  book,  she  knows  the  slightest  quiver 
of  his  muscles,  she  divines  the  reason  when  he  is  calm,  she 
questions  herself  when  he  is  in  the  least  sad,  wondering  if  she 
is  in  fault,  she  watches  his  eyes ;  to  her  those  eyes  are  colored 
by  his  ruling  thought — they  love  or  they  love  not.  Calyste 
knew  himself  to  be  the  object  of  a  worship  so  complete,  so 
artless,  so  jealous,  that  he  doubted  whether  he  could  assume 
a  countenance  that  would  preserve  the  secret  of  the  change 
that  had  come  over  him. 

"What  shall  I  do  to-morrow  morning?"  said  he  to  him- 
self as  he  fell  asleep,  fearing  Sabine's  scrutiny. 

For  when  they  first  met,  or  even  in  the  course  of  the  day, 
Sabine  would  ask  him,  "  Do  you  love  me  as  much  as  ever?  " 
or,  "I   don't   bore  you?"     Gracious  questionings,  varying 


268  BEATRIX. 

according  to  the  wife's  wit  or  mood,  and  covering  real  or 
imaginary  terrors. 

A  storm  will  stir  up  mud  and  bring  it  to  the  top  of  the  noblest 
and  purest  hearts.  And  so,  next  morning,  Calyste,  who  was 
genuinely  fond  of  his  child,  felt  a  thrill  of  joy  at  hearing  that 
Sabine  was  anxious  as  to  the  cause  of  some  symptoms,  and, 
fearing  croup,  could  not  leave  the  infant  Calyste.  The  Baron 
excused  himself  on  the  score  of  business  from  breakfasting  at 
home,  and  went  out.  He  fled  as  a  prisoner  escapes,  happy 
in  the  mere  act  of  walking,  in  going  across  the  Pont  Louis 
XVI.  and  the  Champs-Elysees  to  a  cafe  on  the  boulevard, 
where  he  breakfasted  alone. 

What  is  there  in  love  ?  Does  nature  turn  restive  under  the 
social  yoke  ?  Does  nature  insist  that  the  spring  of  a  devoted 
life  shall  be  spontaneous  and  free,  its  flow  that  of  a  wild 
torrent  tossed  by  the  rocks  of  contradiction  and  caprice,  in- 
stead of  a  tranquil  stream  trickling  between  two  banks — the 
mairie  on  one  side  and  the  church  on  the  other?  Has  she 
schemes  of  her  own  when  she  is  hatching  those  volcanic  enip- 
tions  to  which  perhaps  we  owe  our  great  men  ? 

It  would  have  been  difficult  to  Yind  a  young  man  more 
piously  brought  up  than  Calyste,  of  purer  life,  or  less  tainted 
by  infidelity;  and  he  was  rushing  toward  a  woman  quite 
unworthy  of  him,  when  a  merciful  and  glorious  chance 
brought  to  him,  in  Sabine,  a  girl  of  really  aristocratic  beauty, 
with  a  refined  and  delicate  mind,  pious,  loving,  and  wholly 
attached  to  him  ;  her  angelic  sweetness  still  touched  with  the 
pathos  of  love,  passionate  love  in  spite  of  marriage — such 
love  as  his  for  Beatrix. 

The  greatest  men,  perhaps,  have  still  some  clay  in  their  com- 
position ;  the  mire  still  has  charms.  So,  in  spite  of  folly  and 
frailty,  the  woman  would  then  be  the  less  imperfect  creature. 
Madame  de  Rochefide  in  the  midst  of  the  crowd  of  artistic 
pretenders  who  surrounded  her,  and   in  spite  of  her  fall, 


BEATRIX.  S09 

belonged  to  the  highest  nobility  all  the  same ;  her  nature  was 
ethereal  rather  than  earth-born,  and  she  hid  the  courtesan 
she  meant  to  be  under  the  most  aristocratic  exterior.  So  this 
explanation  cannot  account  for  Calyste's  strange  passion. 

The  reason  may  perhaps  be  found  in  a  vanity  so  deeply 
buried  that  moralists  have  not  yet  discerned  that  side  of  vice. 
There  are  men,  truly  noble  as  Calyste  was,  and  as  handsome, 
rich,  elegant,  and  well  bred,  who  weary — unconsciously  per- 
haps— of  wedded  life  with  a  nature  like  their  own  ;  beings 
whose  loftiness  is  not  amazed  by  loftiness,  who  are  left  cold 
by  a  dignity  and  refinement  on  a  constant  level  with  their  own, 
but  who  crave  to  find  in  inferior  or  fallen  natures  a  corrobora- 
tion of  their  own  superiority  though  they  would  not  ask  their 
praises.  The  contrast  of  moral  degradation  and  magnanimity 
fascinates  their  sight.  What  is  pure  shines  so  vividly  by  the 
side  of  what  is  impure  ?  This  comparison  is  pleasing.  Calyste 
found  nothing  in  Sabine  to  protect ;  she  was  irreproachable  ; 
all  the  wasted  energies  of  his  heart  went  forth  to  Beatrix. 
And  if  we  have  seen  great  men  playing  the  part  of  Jesus, 
raising  up  the  woman  taken  in  adultery,  how  should  common- 
place folk  be  any  wiser  ? 

Calyste  lived  till  two  o'clock  on  the  thought,  "  I  shall  see 
her  again  !  "  a  poem  which  ere  now  has  proved  sustaining 
during  a  journey  of  seven  hundred  leagues.  Then  he  went 
with  a  light  step  to  the  Rue  de  Courcelles ;  he  recognized  the 
house  though  he  had  never  seen  it ;  and  he,  the  Due  de 
Grandlieu's  son-in-law,  he,  as  rich,  as  noble  as  the  Bourbons, 
stood  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  stopped  by  the  question  from 
an  old  butler,  "  Your  name,  if  you  please,  sir  ?  " 

Calyste  understood  that  he  must  leave  Madame  de  Roche- 
fide  free  to  act,  and  he  looked  out  on  the  garden  and  the 
walls  streaked  with  black  and  yellow  lines  left  by  the  rain  on 
the  stucco  of  Paris. 

Madame  de  Rochefide,  like  most  fine  ladies  when  they 
break  their  chain,  had  fled,  leaving  her  fortune  in  her  hus- 


270  BEA  TRIX. 

band's  hands,  and  she  would  not  appeal  for  help  to  her  tyrant. 
Conti  and  Mademoiselle  des  Touches  had  spared  Beatrix  all 
the  cares  of  material  life,  and  her  mother  from  time  to  time 
sent  her  a  sum  of  money.  Now  that  she  was  alone,  she  was 
reduced  to  economy  of  a  rather  severe  kind  to  a  woman  used 
to  luxury.  So  she  had  taken  herself  to  the  top  of  the  hill  on 
which  lies  the  Pare  Monceaux,  sheltering  herself  in  a  little 
old  house  of  some  departed  magnate,  facing  the  street,  but 
with  a  charming  little  garden  behind  it,  at  a  rent  of  not  more 
than  eighteen  hundred  francs.  And  still,  with  an  old  man- 
servant, a  maid  and  a  cook  from  Alengon,  who  had  clung  to 
her  in  her  reverses,  her  poverty  would  have  seemed  opulence 
to  many  an  ambitious  middle-class  housewife. 

Calyste  went  up  a  flight  of  well-whitened  stone  stairs,  the 
landings  gay  with  flowers.  On  the  second  floor  the  old  butler 
showed  Calyste  into  the  rooms  through  a  double  door  of  red 
velvet  paneled  with  red  silk  and  gilt  nails.  The  rooms  he 
went  through  were  also  hung  with  red  silk  and  velvet.  Dark- 
toned  carpets,  hangings  across  the  windows  and  doors,  the 
whole  interior  was  in  contrast  with  the  outside,  which  the 
owner  was  at  no  pains  to  keep  up. 

Calyste  stood  waiting  for  Beatrix  in  a  drawing-room,  quite 
in  style,  where  luxury  affected  simplicity.  It  was  hung  with 
bright  crimson  velvet  set  off  by  cording  of  dull  yellow  silk ; 
the  carpet  was  a  darker  red,  the  windows  looked  like  conserva- 
tories, they  were  so  crowded  with  flowers,  and  there  was  so  little 
daylight  that  he  could  scarcely  see  two  vases  of  fine,  old  red 
porcelain,  and  between  them  a  silver  cup  attributed  to  Ben- 
venuto  Cellini,  and  brought  from  Italy  by  Beatrix.  The 
furniture  of  gilt  wood  upholstered  with  velvet,  the  handsome 
consoles,  on  one  of  which  stood  a  curious  clock,  the  table 
covered  with  a  Persian  cloth,  all  bore  witness  to  past  wealth, 
of  which  the  remains  were  carefully  arranged.  On  a  small 
table  Calyste  saw  some  trinkets,  and  a  book  half-read,  in 
which  the  place  was  marked  by  a  dagger — symbolical  of  criti- 


BEATRIX. 


S71 


cism — its  handle  sparkling  with  jewels.  On  the  walls  ten 
water-color  drawings,  handsomely  framed,  all  representing 
bedrooms  in  the  various  houses  where  Beatrix  had  lived  in 
the  course  of  her  wandering  life,  gave  an  idea  of  her  supreme 
impertinence. 

The  rustle  of  a  silk  dress  announced  the  unfortunate  lady, 
who  appeared  in  a  studied  toilet,  which,  if  Calyste  had  been 
an  older  hand,  would  certainly  have  shown  him  that  he  was 
expected.  The  dress,  made  like  a  dressing-gown  to  show  a 
triangle  of  the  white  throat,  was  of  pearl-gray  watered  silk 
with  open  hanging  sleeves,  showing  the  arms  covered  with  an 
undersleeve  made  with  puffs  divided  by  straps,  and  with  lace 
ruffles.  Her  fine  hair,  loosely  fastened  with  a  comb,  escaped 
from  under  a  cap  of  lace  and  flowers. 

"So  soon,"  said  she  with  a  smile.  "A  lover  would  not 
have  been  so  eager.  So  you  have  some  secrets  to  tell  me,  I 
suppose?"  And  she  seated  herself  on  a  sofa,  signing  to 
Calyste  to  take  a  place  by  her. 

By  some  chance — not  perhaps  unintentional,  for  women 
have  two  kinds  of  memory,  that  of  the  angels  and  that  of  the 
devils — Beatrix  carried  about  her  the  same  perfume  that  she 
had  used  at  les  Touches  when  she  had  first  met  Calyste.  The 
breath  of  this  scent,  the  touch  of  that  dress,  the  look  of  those 
eyes,  which  in  the  twilight  seemed  to  focus  and  reflect  light, 
all  went  to  Calyste's  brain.  The  unhappy  fellow  felt  the 
same  surge  of  violence  as  had  already  so  nearly  killed  Beatrix; 
but  now  the  Marquise  was  on  the  edge  of  a  divan,  not  of  the 
ocean ;  she  rose  to  ring  the  bell,  putting  her  finger  to  her 
lips.  At  this  Calyste,  called  to  order,  controlled  himself;  he 
understood  that  Beatrix  had  no  hostile  intentions. 

"  Antoine,  I  am  not  at  home,"  said  she  to  the  old  servant. 
"  Put  some  wood  on  the  fire.  You  see,  Calyste,  I  treat  you 
as  a  friend,"  she  added  with  dignity  when  the  old  man  was 
gone.  "  Do  not  treat  me  as  your  mistress.  I  have  two  re- 
marks to  make ;     First,  that  I  should  not  make  any  foolish 


272  BEATRIX. 

Stipulations  with  a  man  I  loved  ;  next,  that  I  will  never  belong 
again  to  any  man  in  the  world.  For  I  believed  myself  loved, 
Calyste,  by  a  sort  of  Rizzio  whom  no  pledges  could  bind,  a 
man  absolutely  free,  and  you  see  whither  that  fatal  infatuation 
has  brought  me.  As  for  you,  you  are  tied  to  the  most  sacred 
duties ;  you  have  a  young,  amiable,  delightful  wife ;  and  you 
are  a  father.  I  should  be  as  inexcusable  as  you  are,  and  we 
should  both  be  mad " 

**  My  dear  Beatrix,  all  your  logic  falls  before  one  word.  I 
have  never  loved  any  one  on  earth  but  you,  and  I  married  in 
spite  of  myself." 

"A  little  trick  played  us  by  Mademoiselle  des  Touches," 
said  she  with  a  smile. 

For  three  hours  Madame  de  Rochefide  kept  Calyste  faithful 
to  his  conjugal  duties  by  pressing  on  him  the  horrible  ulti- 
matum of  a  complete  breach  with  Sabine.  Nothing  less,  she 
declared,  could  reassure  her  in  the  dreadful  position  in  which 
she  would  be  placed  by  Calyste's  passion.  And,  indeed,  she 
thought  little  of  ruthlessly  sacrificing  Sabine ;  she  knew  her  so 
well. 

**  Why,  my  dear  boy,  she  is  a  woman  who  fulfills  all  the 
promise  of  her  girlhood.  She  is  a  thorough  Grandlieu,  as 
brown  as  her  Portuguese  mother,  not  to  say  orange-colored, 
and  as  dry  as  her  father.  To  speak  the  truth,  your  wife  will 
never  be  lost  to  you ;  she  is  just  a  great  boy,  and  can  walk 
alone.  Poor  Calyste  !  is  this  the  wife  to  suit  you  ?  She  has 
fine  eyes,  but  such  eyes  are  common  in  Italy,  Spain,  and 
Portugal.  Can  a  woman  so  lean  be  really  tender  ?  Eve  was 
fair ;  dark  women  are  descended  from  Adam,  fair  women 
from  God,  whose  hand  left  a  last  touch  on  Eve  when  all  crea- 
tion was  complete." 

At  about  six  o'clock  Calyste  in  desperation  took  up  his  hat 
to  go. 

"  Yes,  go,  my  poor  friend  ;  do  not  let  her  have  the  disap- 
pointment of  dining  without  you." 


BEATRIX.  278 

Calyste  stayed.  He  was  so  young,  so  easy  to  take  on  the 
wrong  side. 

"  You  would  really  dare  to  dine  with  me?"  said  Beatrix^ 
affecting  the  most  provoking  surprise.  "My  humble  fare 
does  not  frighten  you  away,  and  you  have  enough  independ- 
ence of  spirit  to  crown  my  joy  by  this  little  proof  of  genuine 
affection  ? '  * 

"Only  let  me  write  a  line  to  Sabine,"  said  he,  **  for  she 
would  wait  for  me  till  nine  o'clock." 

"  There  is  my  writing-table,"  said  Beatrix. 

She  herself  lighted  the  candles  and  brought  one  to  the 
table  to  see  what  Calyste  would  write. 

"  My  dear  Sabine." 

"My  dear!  Is  your  wife  still  dear  to  you?"  said  she, 
looking  at  him  so  coldly  that  it  froze  the  marrow  in  his  bones. 
**  Go,  then,  go  to  dine  with  her." 

"  I  am  dining  at  an  eating-house  with  some  friends " 

"  That  is  a  lie.  For  shame !  You  are  unworthy  of  her 
love  or  mine.  All  men  are  cowards  with  us.  That  will  do, 
monsieur ;  go  and  dine  with  your  dear  Sabine  !  " 

Calyste  threw  himself  back  in  his  armchair  and  turned  paler 
than  death.  Bretons  have  a  sort  of  obstinate  courage  which 
makes  them  hold  their  own  under  difficulties.  The  young 
Baron  sat  up  again  with  his  elbow  firmly  set  on  the  table,  his 
chin  in  his  hand,  and  his  sparkling  eyes  fixed  on  Beatrix,  who 
was  relentless.  He  looked  so  fine  that  a  true  northern  or 
southern  woman  would  have  fallen  on  her  knees,  saying, 
"Take  me !  "  But  in  Beatrix,  born  on  the  border  between 
Normandy  and  Brittany,  of  the  race  of  Casteran,  desertion 
had  brought  out  the  ferocity  of  the  Frank  and  the  malignity 
of  the  Norman ;  she  craved  a  tremendous  and  terrible  re- 
venge ;  she  did  not  yield  to  his  noble  impulse. 

"  Dictate  what  I  am  to  write,  and  I  will  obey,"  said  the 
poor  boy.     "  But  then " 

"Then,  yes,"  she  replied,  "  for  you  will  love  me  then  as 
18 


274  BEATRIX. 

you  loved  me  at  Guerande.  Write,  '  I  am  dining  in  town  ; 
do  not  wait.'  " 

"  And ?  "  said  Calyste,  expecting  something  more. 

"Nothing,  Sign  it.  Good,"  she. said,  seizing  this  note 
with  covert  joy.     "  I  will  send  it  by  a  messenger." 

"  Now  !  "  cried  Calyste,  starting  up  like  a  happy  man. 

"I  have  preserved  my  liberty  of  action,  I  believe,"  said 
she,  looking  around  and  pausing  half-way  between  the  table 
and  the  fireplace,  where  she  was  about  to  ring. 

**  Here,  Antoine,  have  this  note  taken  to  the  address. 
Monsieur  will  dine  with  me." 

Calyste  went  home  at  about  two  in  the  morning. 

After  sitting  up  till  half-past  twelve,  Sabine  had  gone  to 
bed,  tired  out.  She  slept,  though  she  had  been  cruelly  star- 
tled by  the  brevity  of  her  husband's  note ;  still,  she  accounted 
for  it.  True  love  in  a  woman  can  always  explain  everything 
to  the  advantage  of  the  man  she  loves. 

*'  Calyste  was  in  a  hurry  !  "  thought  she. 

Next  day  the  child  had  recovered,  the  mother's  alarms 
were  past.  Sabine  came  in  smiling  with  the  little  Calyste  in 
her  arms  to  show  him  to  his  father  just  before  breakfast,  full 
of  the  pretty  nonsense,  and  saying  the  silly  things  that  all 
young  mothers  are  full  of.  This  little  domestic  scene  enabled 
Calyste  to  put  a  good  face  on  matters,  and  he  was  charming 
to  his  wife  while  feeling  that  he  was  a  wretch.  He  played 
like  a  boy  himself  with  Monsieur  le  Chevalier ;  indeed,  he 
overdid  it,  overacting  his  part ;  but  Sabine  had  not  reached 
that  pitch  of  distrust  in  which  a  wife  notes  so  subtle  a  shade. 

At  last,  during  breakfast,  Sabine  asked — 

"  And  what  were  you  doing  yesterday?  " 

"  Portendu^re,"  said  he,  "kept  me  to  dinner,  and  we  went 
to  the  club  to  play  a  few  rubbers  of  whist." 

"It  is  a  foolish  life,  my  Calyste,"  replied  Sabine.  "The 
young  men  of  our  day  ought  rather  to  think  of  recovering  all 
the  estates  in  the  country  that  their  fathers  lost.     They  can- 


BEATRIX.  275 

not  live  by  smoking  cigars,  playing  whist,  and  dissipating 
their  idleness  by  being  content  with  making  impertinent 
speeches  to  the  parvenus  who  are  ousting  them  from  all  their 
dignities,  by  cutting  themselves  off  from  the  masses,  whose 
soul  and  brain  they  ought  to  be,  and  to  whom  they  should 
appear  as  Providence.  Instead  of  being  a  party,  you  will 
only  be  an  opinion,  as  de  Marsay  said.  Oh  !  if  you  could 
only  know  how  my  views  have  expanded  since  I  have  rocked 
and  suckled  your  child.  I  want  to  see  the  old  name  of  du 
Guenic  figure  in  history." 

Then,  suddenly  looking  straight  into  Calyste's  eyes,  which 
were  pensively  fixed  on  her,  she  said — 

"  You  must  admit  that  the  first  note  you  ever  wrote  me  was 
a  little  abrupt?" 

•'I  never  thought  of  writing  till  I  reached  the  club." 

**  But  you  wrote  on  a  woman's  paper ;  it  had  some  womanly 
scent." 

**  The  club  managers  do  such  queer  things " 

The  Vicomte  de  Portendudre  and  his  wife,  a  charming  young 
couple,  had  become  so  intimate  with  the  du  Gunnies  that  they 
shared  a  box  at  the  Italian  opera.  The  two  young  women, 
Sabine  and  Ursule,  had  been  drawn  into  this  friendship  by  a 
delightful  exchange  of  advice,  anxieties,  and  confidences  about 
their  babies.  While  Calyste,  a  novice  in  falsehood,  was 
thinking  to  himself,  "I  must  go  to  warn  Savinien,"  Sabine 
was  reflecting,  "  I  fancied  that  the  paper  was  stamped  with  a 
coronet !  " 

The  suspicion  flashed  like  lightning  through  her  conscious- 
ness, and  she  blamed  herself  for  it;  but  she  made  up  her 
mind  to  look  for  the  note,  which,  in  the  midst  of  her  alarms 
on  the  previous  day,  she  had  tossed  into  her  letter-box. 

After  breakfast  Calyste  went  out,  telling  his  wife  he  should 
soon  return  ;  he  got  into  one  of  the  little  low  one-horse  car- 
riages which  were  just  beginning  to  take  the  place  of  the  in- 


276  BEATRIX. 

convenient  cabriolet  of  our  grandfathers.  In  a  few  minutes 
he  reached  the  Rue  des  Saints-Peres,  where  the  Vicomte  lived, 
and  begged  him  to  do  him  the  little  kindness  of  lying  in  case 
Sabine  should  question  the  Vicomtesse — he  would  do  as  much 
for  him  next  time.  Then,  when  once  out  of  the  house,  Calyste, 
having  first  bidden  the  coachman  to  hurry  as  much  as  possible, 
went  in  a  few  minutes  from  the  Rue  des  Saints-Peres  to  the 
Rue  de  Courcelles.  He  was  anxious  to  know  how  Beatrix  had 
spent  the  rest  of  the  night. 

He  found  the  happy  victim  of  fate  just  out  of  her  bath, 
fresh,  beautified,  and  breakfasting  with  a  good  appetite.  He 
admired  the  grace  with  which  his  angel  ate  boiled  eggs,  and 
was  delighted  with  the  service  of  gold,  a  present  from  a  music- 
mad  lord  for  whom  Conti  had  written  some  songs,  on  ideas 
supplied  by  his  lordship,  who  had  published  them  as  his  own. 
Calyste  listened  to  a  few  piquant  anecdotes  related  by  his 
idol,  whose  chief  aim  was  to  amuse  him,  though  she  got  angry 
and  cried  when  he  left  her.  He  fancied  he  had  been  with  her 
half  an  hour,  and  did  not  get  home  till  three  o'clock.  His 
horse,  a  fine  beast  given  him  by  the  Vicomtesse  de  Grandlieu, 
looked  as  if  it  had  come  out  of  the  river,  it  was  so  streaming 
with  sweat. 

By  such  a  chance  as  a  jealous  woman  always  plans,  Sabine 
was  on  guard  at  a  window  looking  out  into  the  courtyard,  out 
of  patience  at  Calyste's  late  return,  and  uneasy  without 
knowing  why.  She  was  struck  by  the  condition  of  the  horse, 
its  mouth  full  of  foam. 

*<  Where  has  he  been  ?  " 

The  question  was  whispered  in  her  ear  by  that  power  which 
is  not  conscience — not  the  devil,  nor  an  angel — the  power 
which  sees,  feels,  knows,  and  shows  us  the  unknown  ;  which 
makes  us  believe  in  the  existence  of  spiritual  beings,  creatures 
of  our  own  brain,  going  and  coming,  and  living  in  the  invisible 
sphere  of  ideas. 

"Where   have   you  come  from,  my  darling?"  said  she, 


BEATRIX.  277 

going  down  to  the  first  landing  to  meet  Calyste.  "Abd-el- 
Kader  is  half-dead ;  you  said  you  would  l)e  out  but  a  few 
minutes,  and  I  have  been  expecting  you  these  three  hours." 

•'Well,  well,"  said  Calyste  to  himself,  improving  in  the 
art  of  dissimulation,  "I  must  get  out  of  the  scrape  by  a 
present.  Dear  little  nurse,"  said  he,  putting  his  arm  round 
his  wife's  waist  with  a  more  coaxing  pressure  than  he  would 
have  given  it  if  he  had  not  felt  guilty,  "it  is  impossible,  I 
see,  to  keep  a  secret,  however  innocent,  from  a  loving  wife 
who " 

"  We  don't  tell  secrets  on  the  stairs,"  she  replied,  laughing. 
"  Come  along  !  " 

In  the  middle  of  the  drawing-room  that  led  to  the  bed- 
room, she  saw,  reflected  in  a  mirror,  Calyste's  face,  in  which, 
not  knowing  that  it  could  be  seen,  his  fatigue  and  his  real 
feelings  showed  ;  he  had  ceased  to  smile. 

"  That  secret?"  said  she,  turning  round. 

"  You  have  been  such  a  heroic  nurse  that  the  heir-presump- 
tive of  the  du  Guenics  is  dearer  to  me  than  ever ;  I  wanted 
to  surprise  you — ^just  like  a  worthy  citizen  of  the  Rue  Saint- 
Denis.  A  dressing-table  is  being  fitted  for  you  which  is  a 
work  of  art — my  mother  and  Aunt  Zephirine  have  helped " 

Sabine  threw  her  arms  round  Calyste,  and  held  him  clasped 
to  her  heart,  her  head  on  his  neck,  trembling  with  the  weight 
of  happiness,  not  on  account  of  the  dressing-table,  but  be- 
cause her  suspicions  were  blown  to  the  winds.  It  was  one  of 
those  glorious  gushes  of  joy  which  can  be  counted  in  a  life- 
time, and  of  which  even  the  most  excessive  love  cannot  be 
prodigal,  for  life  would  be  too  quickly  burnt  out.  Men 
ought,  in  such  moments,  to  kneel  at  the  woman's  feet  in 
adoration,  for  the  impulse  is  sublime;  all  the  powers  of  the 
heart  and  intellect  overflow  as  water  gushes  from  the  urn 
of  fountain-nymphs.     Sabine  melted  into  tears. 

Suddenly,  as  if  stung  by  a  viper,  she  pushed  Calyste  from 
her,  dropped  on  to  a  divan,  and  fainted  away ;  the  sudden 


278  BEATRIX. 

chill  on  her  glowing  heart  -  had  almost  killed  her.  As  she 
held  Calyste,  her  nose  in  his  necktie,  given  up  to  happiness, 
she  had  smelt  the  same  perfume  as  that  on  the  note-paper ! 
Another  woman's  head  had  lain  there,  her  face  and  hair  had 
left  the  very  scent  of  adultery.  She  had  just  kissed  the  spot 
where  her  rival's  kisses  were  still  warm. 

**  What  is  the  matter?  "  said  Calyste,  after  bringing  Sabine 
back  to  her  senses  by  bathing  her  face  with  a  wet  handker- 
chief. 

"  Go  and  fetch  the  doctor  and   the    accoucheur — both. 

Yes,  I  feel  the  milk  has  turned  to  fever They  will  not 

come  at  once  unless  you  go  yourself "      Vous,  she  said, 

not  tu,  and  the  vous  startled  Calyste,  who  flew  off"  in  alarm. 
As  soon  as  Sabine  heard  the  outer  gate  shut  she  sprang  to  her 
feet  like  a  frightened  deer,  and  walked  round  and  round  the 
room  like  a  crazy  thing,  exclaiming,  "  My  God !  my  God ! 
my  God !  " 

The  two  words  took  the  place  of  thought.  The  crisis  she 
had  used  as  a  pretext  really  came  on.  The  hair  on  her  head 
felt  like  so  many  eels,  made  red-hot  in  the  fire  of  nervous 
torment.  Her  heated  blood  seemed  to  her  to  have  mingled 
with  her  nerves,  and  to  be  bursting  from  every  pore.  For  a 
moment  she  was  blind.     **  I  am  dying  !  "  she  shrieked. 

At  this  fearful  cry  of  an  insulted  wife  and  mother,  her 
maid  came  in  ;  and  when  she  had  been  carried  to  her  bed  and 
had  recovered  her  sight  and  senses,  her  first  gleam  of  intelli- 
gence made  her  send  the  wpman  to  fetch  her  friend  Madame 
de  Portendudre.  Sabine  felt  her  thoughts  swirling  in  her 
brain  like  straws  in  a  whirlwind. 

"I  saw  myraids  of  them  at  once,"  she  said  afterward. 

Then  she  rang  for  the  manservant,  and  in  the  transport  of 
fever  found  strength  enough  to  write  the  following  note,  for 
she  was  possessed  by  a  mania,  she  must  be  sure  of  the  truth : 


BE  A  TRIX.  279 


To  Madame  la  Baronne  du  Guimc. 

"Dear  Mamma:— When  you  come  to  Paris,  as  you  have 
led  us  to  hope  you  may,  I  will  thank  you  in  person  for  the 
beautiful  present  by  which  you  and  Aunt  Z6phirine  and  Cal- 
yste  propose  to  thank  me  for  having  done  my  duty.  I  have 
been  amply  paid  by  my  own  happiness.  I  cannot  attempt 
to  express  my  pleasure  in  this  beautiful  dressing-table :  when 
you  are  here  I  will  try  to  tell  you.  Believe  me,  when  I  dress 
before  this  glass,  I  shall  always  think,  like  the  Roman  lady, 
that  my  choicest  jewel  is  our  darling  angel,"  and  so  on. 

She  had  this  letter  posted  by  her  own  maid. 

When  the  Vicomtesse  de  Portendudre  came  in,  the  shivering 
fit  of  a  violent  fever  had  succeeded  the  first  paroxysm  of 
madness. 

"Ursule,  I  believe  I  am  going  to  die,"  said  she. 

"What  ails  you,  my  dear?" 

"Tell  me,  what  did  Calyste  and  Savinien  do  yesterday 
evening  after  dinner  at  your  house?  " 

"What  dinner?"  replied  Ursule,  to  whom  her  husband 
had  as  yet  said  nothing,  not  expecting  an  immediate  inquiry. 
"Savinien  and  I  dined  alone  last  evening,  and  went  to  the 
opera  without  Calyste." 

"  Ursule,  dear  child,  in  the  name  of  your  love  for  Savinien, 
I  adjure  you,  keep  the  secret  of  what  I  have  asked  you  and 
what  I  will  tell  you.  You  alone  will  know  what  I  am  dying 
of — I  am  betrayed,  at  the  end  of  three  years — when  I  am  not 
yet  three-and-twenty " 

Her  teeth  chattered ;  her  eyes  were  lifeless  and  dull ;  her 
face  had  the  greenish  hue  and  surface  of  old  Venetian  glass. 

"  You — so  handsome  !     But  for  whom  ?  " 

"I  do  not  know.  But  Calyste  has  lied  to  me — twice. 
Not  a  word  !     Do  not  pity  me,  do  not  be  indignant,  affect 


280  BEATRIX. 

ignorance;  you  will  hear  whoy  perhaps,  through  Savinien. 
Oh  !  yesterday's  note ' ' 

And,  shivering  in  her  shift,  she  flew  to  a  little  cabinet  and 
took  out  the  letter. 

"  A  marquise's  coronet !  "  she  said,  getting  into  bed  again. 
**  Find  out  whether  Madame  de  Rochefide  is  in  Paris,  Have 
I  a  heart  left  to  weep  or  groan  ?  Oh,  my  dear,  to  see  my 
beliefs,  my  poem,  my  idol,  my  virtue,  my  happiness,  all,  all 
destroyed,  crushed,  lost !  There  is  no  God  in  heaven  now, 
no  love  on  earth,  no  more  life  in  my  heart — nothing !  I  do 
not  feel  sure  of  the  daylight ;  I  doubt  if  there  is  a  sun.  In 
short,  my  heart  is  suffering  so  cruelly  that  I  hardly  feel  the 
horrible  pain  in  my  breast  and  my  face.  Happily  the  child 
is  weaned.  My  milk  would  have  poisoned  him!  "  And  at 
this  thought  a  torrent  of  tears  relieved  her  eyes,  hitherto  dry. 

Pretty  Madame  de  Portendudre,  holding  the  fatal  note 
which  Sabine  had  smelt  of  for  certainty,  stood  speechless  at 
this  desperate  woe,  amazed  by  this  death  of  love,  and  unable 
to  say  anything  in  spite  of  the  incoherent  fragments  in  which 
Sabine  strove  to  tell  her  all.  Suddenly  Ursule  was  enlight- 
ened by  one  of  those  flashes  which  come  only  to  sincere  souls. 

"I  must  save  her  !  "  thought  she.  "  Wait  until  I  return, 
Sabine,"  cried  she.     "  I  will  know  the  truth." 

"  Oh,  and  I  shall  love  you  in  my  grave !  "  cried  Sabine. 

Madame  de  Portendudre  went  to  the  Duchesse  de  Grandlieu, 
insisted  on  absolute  secrecy,  and  informed  her  as  to  the  state 
Sabine  was  in. 

"Madame,"  said  she,  in  conclusion,  "are  you  not  of 
opinion  that,  to  save  her  from  some  dreadful  illness,  or  per- 
haps even  madness — who  can  tell  ? — we  ought  to  tell  the 
doctor  everything,  and  invent  some  fables  about  that  abomin- 
able Calyste,  so  as  to  make  him  seem  innocent,  at  any  rate, 
for  the  present." 

**  My  dear  child,"  said  the  Duchess,  who  had  felt  a  chill  at 
this  revelation,  **  friendship  has  lent  you  for  the  nonce  the 


BEATRIX.  281 

experience  of  a  woman  of  my  age.     I  know  how  Sabine  wor- 
ships her  husband  ;  you  are  right,  she  may  go  mad." 

"And  she  might  lose  her  beauty,  which  would  be  worse," 
said  the  Vicomtesse. 

"  Let  us  go  at  once  !  "  cried  the  Duchess. 

They,  happily,  were  a  few  minutes  in  advance  of  the  famous 
accoucheur  Dommanget,  the  only  one  of  the  two  doctors  whom 
Calyste  had  succeeded  in  finding. 

"  Ursule  has  told  me  all,"  said  the  Duchess  to  her  daughter. 
"You  are  mistaken.  In  the  first  place,  Beatrix  is  not  in 
Paris.  As  to  what  your  husband  was  doing  yesterday,  my 
darling,  he  lost  a  great  deal  of  money,  and  does  not  know 
where  to  find  enough  to  pay  for  your  dressing-table " 

"  And  this  ?  "  interrupted  Sabine,  holding  out  the  note. 

"This!"  said  the  Duchess,  laughing,  "is  Jockey  Club 
paper.  Every  one  writes  on  coroneted  paper — the  grocers 
will  have  titles  soon " 

The  prudent  mother  tossed  the  ill-starred  document  into 
the  fire. 

When  Calyste  and  Dommanget  arrived,  the  Duchess,  who 
had  given  her  orders,  was  informed  ;  she  left  Sabine  with 
Madame  de  Portendu^re,  and  met  the  doctor  and  Calyste  in 
the  drawing-room. 

"  Sabine's  life  is  in  danger,  monsieur,"  said  she  to  Calyste. 
"You  have  been  false  to  her  with  Madame  de  Rochefide" — 
Calyste  blushed  like  a  still  decent  girl  caught  tripping — "  and 
as  you  do  not  know  how  to  deceive,"  the  Duchess  went  on, 
"  you  were  so  clumsy  that  Sabine  guessed  everything.  You 
do  not  wish  my  daughter's  death,  I  suppose  ?  All  this,  Mon- 
sieur Dommanget,  gives  you  a  clue  to  my  daughter's  illness 
and  its  cause.  As  for  you,  Calyste,  an  old  woman  like  me 
can  understand  your  error,  but  I  do  not  forgive  you.  Such 
forgiveness  can  only  be  purchased  by  a  life  of  happiness.  If 
you  desire  my  esteem,  first  save  my  child's  life.  Then  forget 
Madame  de  Rochefide — she  is  good  for  nothing  after  the  first 


282  BEATRIX. 

time !  Learn  to  lie,  have  the  courage  and  impudence  of  a 
criminal.  I  have  lied,  God  knows !  I,  who  shall  be  com- 
pelled to  do  crael  penance  for  such  mortal  sin." 

She  explained  to  him  the  fictions  she  had  jxist  invented. 
The  skillful  doctor,  sitting  by  the  bed,  was  studying  the 
patient's  symptoms  and  the  means  of  staving  off  the  mischief. 
While  he  was  prescribing  measures,  of  which  the  success  must 
depend  on  their  immediate  execution,  Calyste,  at  the  foot  of 
the  bed,  kept  his  eyes  fixed  on  Sabine,  trying  to  give  them 
an  expression  of  tender  anxiety. 

"Then  it  is  gambling  that  has  given  you  those  dark  marks 
round  your  eyes  ?  "  she  said  in  a  feeble  voice. 

The  words  startled  the  doctor,  the  mother,  and  Ursule, 
who  looked  at  each  other  ;  Calyste  turned  as  red  as  a  cherry. 

**That  comes  of  suckling  your  child,"  said  Dommanget, 
cleverly  but  roughly.  "  Then  husbands  are  dull,  being  so 
much  separated  from  their  wives,  they  go  to  the  club  and 
play  high.  But  do  not  lament  over  the  thirty  thousand 
francs  that  Monsieur  le  Baron  lost  last  night " 

"Thirty  thousand  francs  !  "  said  Ursule  like  a  simpleton. 

"Yes,  I  know  it  for  certain,"  replied  Dommanget.  "I 
heard  this  morning  at  the  house  of  the  Duchesse  Berthe  de 
Maufrigneuse  that  you  lost  the  money  to  Monsieur  de  Trailles," 
be  added  to  Calyste.  "  How  can  you  play  with  such  a  man  ? 
Honestly,  Monsieur  le  Baron,  I  understand  your  being  ashamed 
of  yourself." 

Cal)rste,  a  kind  and  generous  soul,  when  he  saw  his  mother- 
in-law — the  pious  Duchess,  the  young  Viscountess — a  happy 
wife,  and  a  selfish  old  doctor  all  lying  like  curiosity  dealers, 
understood  the  greatness  of  the  danger ;  he  shed  two  large 
tears  which  deceived  Sabine. 

"Monsieur,"  said  she,  sitting  up  in  bed,  and  looking 
wrathfiilly  at  Dommanget,  **  Monsieur  du  Guenic  may  lose 
thirty,  fifty,  a  hundred  thousand  francs  if  he  chooses  without 
giving  any  one  a  right  to  find  fault  with  him  or  lecture  him. 


BEATRIX.  283 

It  is  better  that  Monsieur  de  Trailles  should  have  won  the 
money  from  him  than  that  we,  we,  should  have  won  from 
Monsieur  de  Trailles  !  " 

Calyste  rose  and  put  his  arm  round  his  wife's  neck.  Kissing 
her  on  both  cheeks,  he  said  in  her  ear,  "  Sabine,  you  are  an 
angel!" 

Two  days  later  the  young  Baroness  was  considered  out  of 
danger.  On  the  following  day  Calyste  went  to  Madame  de 
Rochefide,  and  making  a  virtue  of  his  infamy — 

"Beatrix,"  said  he,  "you  owe  me  .much  happiness.  I 
sacrificed  my  poor  wife  to  you,  and  she  discovered  everything. 
The  fatal  note-paper  on  which  you  made  me  write,  with  your 
initial  and  coronet  on  it,  which  I  did  not  happen  to  see — I 
saw  nothing  but  you  !  The  letter  B,  happily,  was  worn  away ; 
but  the  scent  you  left  clinging  to  me,  the  lies  in  which  I  en- 
tangled myself  like  a  fool,  have  ruined  my  happiness.  Sabine 
has  been  at  death's  door ;  the  milk  went  to  her  brain,  she  has 
erysipelas,  and  will  perhaps  be  disfigured  for  life " 

Beatrix,  while  listening  to  this  harangue,  had  a  face  of  Arctic 
coldness,  enough  to  freeze  the  Seine  if  she  had  looked  at  it. 

"  Well,  so  much  the  better ;  it  may  bleach  her  a  little,  per- 
haps," And  Beatrix,  as  dry  as  her  own  bones,  as  variable  as 
her  complexion,  as  sharp  as  her  voice,  went  on  in  this  tone,  a 
tirade  of  cruel  epigrams. 

There  can  be  no  greater  blunder  than  for  a  husband  to  talk 
to  his  mistress  of  his  wife,  if  she  is  virtuous,  unless  it  be  to  talk 
to  his  wife  of  his  mistress  if  she  is  handsome.  But  Calyste 
had  not  yet  had  the  sort  of  Parisian  education  which  may  be 
called  the  good  manners  of  the  passions.  He  could  neither 
tell  his  wife  a  lie  nor  tell  his  mistress  the  truth — an  indispen- 
sable training  to  enable  a  man  to  manage  women.  So  he  was 
obliged  to  appeal  to  all  the  powers  of  passion  for  two  long 
hours,  to  wring  from  Beatrix  the  forgiveness  he  begged,  denied 
him  by  an  angel  who  raised  her  eyes  to  heaven  not  to  see  the 


284  BEATRIX. 

culprit,  and  who  uttered  the  reasons  peculiar  to  marquises  in 
a  voice  choked  with  well-feigned  tears,  that  she  furtively  wiped 
away  with  the  lace  edge  of  her  handkerchief. 

*'  You  can  talk  to  me  of  your  wife  the  very  day  after  I  have 
yielded  !  Why  not  say  at  once  that  she  is  a  pearl  of  virtue  ! 
I  know,  she  admires  your  beauty  !  That  is  what  I  call  de- 
pravity !  I — I  love  your  soul  !  For  I  assure  you,  my  dear 
boy,  you  are  hideous  compared  with  some  shepherds  of  the 
Roman  Campagna ,"  etc.,  etc. 

This  tone  may  seem  strange,  but  it  was  the  part  of  a  system 
deliberately  planned  by  Beatrix.  In  her  third  incarnation — 
for  a  woman  completely  changes  with  each  fresh  passion — she 
is  far  advanced  in  fraud — that  is  the  only  word  that  can  de- 
scribe the  result  of  the  experience  gained  in  such  adventures. 
The  Marquise  de  Rochefide  had  sat  in  judgment  on  herself  in 
front  of  her  mirror.  Clever  women  have  no  delusions  about 
themselves ;  they  count  their  wrinkles  ;  they  watch  the  begin- 
ning of  crows'-feet ;  they  note  the  appearance  of  every  speck 
in  their  skin ;  they  know  themselves  by  heart,  and  show  it  too 
plainly  by  the  immense  pains  they  take  to  preserve  their  beauty. 
And  so,  to  contend  against  a  beautiful  young  wife,  to  triumph 
over  her  six  days  a  week,  Beatrix  sought  to  win  by  the  weapons 
of  the  courtesan.  Without  confessing  to  herself  the  baseness 
of  her  conduct,  and  carried  away  to  use  such  means  by  a  Turk- 
like passion  for  the  handsome  young  man,  she  resolved  to 
make  him  believe  that  he  was  clumsy,  ugly,  ill-made,  and  to 
behave  as  if  she  hated  him. 

There  is  no  more  successful  method  with  men  of  a  domi- 
neering nature.  To  them  the  conquest  of  such  disdain  is  the 
triumph  of  the  first  day  renewed  on  every  morrow.  It  is 
more ;  it  is  flattery  hidden  under  the  mask  of  aversion,  and 
owing  to  it  the  charm  and  truth  which  underlie  all  the  meta- 
morphoses invented  by  the  great  nameless  poets.  Does  not  a 
man  then  say  to  himself,  "I  am  irresistible!"  or  "I  must 
love  her  well,  since  I  conquer  her  repugnance!  "     If  you 


BE  A  TRIX.  28S 

deny  this  principle,  which  flirts  and  courtesans  of  every  social 
grade  discovered  long  ago,  you  must  discredit  the  pursuers  of 
science,  the  inquirers  into  secrets,  who  have  long  been  re- 
pulsed in  their  duel  with  hidden  causes. 

Beatrix  seconded  her  use  of  contempt  as  a  moral  incitement 
by  a  constant  comparison  between  her  comfortable,  poetic 
home  and  the  Hotel  du  Guenic.  Every  deserted  wife  neglects 
her  home  out  of  deep  discouragement.  Foreseeing  this, 
Madame  de  Rochefide  began  covert  innuendoes  as  to  the 
luxury  of  the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain,  which  she  stigmatized 
as  absurd.  The  reconciliation  scene,  when  Beatrix  made 
Calyste  swear  to  hate  the  wife  who,  as  she  said,  was  playing 
the  farce  of  spilt  milk,  took  place  in  a  perfect  bower,  where 
she  put  herself  into  attitudes  in  the  midst  of  beautiful  flowers 
and  jardinieres  of  lavish  costliness.  She  carried  the  art  of 
trifles,  of  fashionable  toys,  to  an  extreme.  Beatrix,  sunk  into 
contempt  since  Conti's  desertion,  was  bent  on  gaining  such 
fame  as  may  be  had  by  sheer  perversity.  The  woes  of  a 
young  wife,  a  Grandlieu,  rich  and  lovely,  were  to  build  her  a 
pedestal. 

When  a  woman  reappears  in  society  after  nursing  her  first 
child,  she  comes  out  again  improved  in  charm  and  beauty. 
If  this  phase  of  maternity  can  rejuvenate  even  women  no 
longer  in  their  first  youth,  it  gives  young  wives  a  splendid 
freshness,  a  cheerful  activity,  a  brio  of  life — if  we  may  apply 
to  the  body  a  word  which  the  Italians  have  invented  for  the 
mind.  But  while  trying  to  resume  the  pleasant  habits  of  the 
honeymoon,  Sabine  did  not  find  the  same  Calyste.  The  un- 
happy girl  watched  him  instead  of  abandoning  herself  to 
happiness.  She  expected  the  fatal  perfume,  and  she  smelt  it ; 
and  she  no  longer  confided  in  Ursule,  nor  in  her  mother,  who 
had  so  charitably  deceived  her.  She  wanted  certainty,  and 
she  had  not  long  to  wait  for  it.  Certainty  is  never  coy  \  it  is 
like  the  sun,  we  soon  need  to  pull  down  the  blinds  before  it. 
In  love  it  is  a  repetition  of  the  fable  of  the  Woodman  calling 


286  BEATRIX. 

on  Death.  We  wish  that  certainty  would  blind  us.  One 
morning,  a  fortnight  after  the  first  catastrophe,  Sabine  received 
this  dreadful  letter : 

To  Madame  la  Baronne  du  Guenic. 

"  Glrt:RANDE. 

"My  dear  Daughter: — My  sister  Zephirine  and  I  are 
lost  in  conjectures  as  to  the  dressing-table  mentioned  in  your 
letter ;  I  am  writing  about  it  to  Calyste,  and  beg  your  forgive- 
ness for  my  ignorance.  You  cannot  doubt  our  affection.  We 
are  saving  treasure  for  you.  Thanks  to  Mademoiselle  de  Pen- 
Hoel's  advice  as  to  the  management  of  your  land,  you  will  in 
a  few  years  find  yourself  possessed  of  a  considerable  capital 
without  having  to  diminish  your  expenditure. 

"  Your  letter,  dearest  daughter — whom  I  love  as  much  as  if 
I  had  borne  you  and  fed  you  at  my  own  breast — surprised  me 
by  its  brevity,  and  especially  by  your  making  no  mention  of 
my  dear  little  Calyste ;  you  had  nothing  to  tell  me  about  the 
elder  Calyste;  he,  I  know,  is  happy,"  etc. 

Sabine  wrote  across  this  letter,  ^^ Brittany  is  too  noble  to  lie 
with  one  accord /^'  and  laid  it  on  Calyste's  writing-table.  He 
found  it  and  read  it.  After  recognizing  Sabine's  writing  in 
the  line  across  it,  he  threw  it  into  the  fire,  determined  never 
to  have  seen  it.  Sabine  spent  a  whole  week  in  misery,  of 
which  the  secret  may  be  understood  by  those  celestial  or 
hermit  souls  that  have  never  been  touched  by  the  wing  of  the 
fallen  angel.     Calyste's  silence  terrified  Sabine. 

"I,  who  ought  to  be  all  sweetness,  all  joy  to  him — I  have 
vexed  him,  hurt  him  !  My  virtue  is  become  hateful ;  I  have 
perhaps  humiliated  my  idol,"  said  she  to  herself. 

These  thoughts  ploughed  furrows  in  her  soul.  She  thought 
of  asking  forgiveness  for  this  fault,  but  certainty  brought  her 
fresh  proofs. 


BEATRIX.  287 

Beatrix,  insolently  bold,  wrote  to  Calyste  one  day  at  his 
own  house.  The  letter  was  put  into  Madame  du  Guenic's 
hands ;  she  gave  it  to  her  husband  unopened,  but  she  said, 
with  death  in  her  soul,  and  in  a  broken  voice — 

"  My  dear,  this  note  is  from  the  Jockey  Club;  I  know  the 
scent  and  the  paper." 

Calyste  blushed  and  put  the  letter  in  his  pocket. 

"  Why  do  you  not  read  it  ?  " 

"  I  know  what  they  want." 

The  young  wife  sat  down.  She  did  not  get  an  attack  of 
fever,  she  did  not  cry,  but  she  felt  one  of  those  surges  of  rage 
which  in  such  feeble  creatures  bring  forth  monsters  of  crime, 
which  arm  them  with  arsenic  for  themselves  or  for  their  rivals. 
Little  Calyste  was  presently  brought  to  her,  and  she  took  him 
on  her  lap;  the  child,  but  just  weaned,  turned  to  find  the 
breast  under  her  dress. 

"  He  remembers  !  "  said  she  in  a  whisper. 

Calyste  went  to  his  room  to  read  the  letter.  When  he  was 
gone  the  poor  young  creature  burst  into  tears,  such  tears  as 
women  shed  when  they  are  alone.  Pain,  like  pleasure,  has 
its  initiatory  stage ;  the  first  anguish,  like  that  of  which 
Sabine  had  so  nearly  died,  can  never  recur,  any  more  than  a 
first  experience  of  any  kind.  It  is  the  first  wedge  of  the 
torture  of  the  heart  -,  the  others  are  expected,  the  wringing 
of  the  nerves  is  a  known  thing,  the  capital  of  strength  has 
accumulated  a  deposit  for  firm  resistance.  And  Sabine,  sure 
now  of  the  worst,  sat  by  the  fire  for  three  hours  with  her  boy 
on  her  knee,  and  was  quite  startled  when  Gasselin,  now  their 
liouse-servant,  came  to  announce  that  dinner  was  on  the  table. 

"Let  monsieur  know." 

"  Monsieur  is  not  dining  at  home,  Madame  la  Baronne." 

Who  can  tell  all  the  misery  for  a  young  woman  of  three- 
and-twenty,  the  torture  of  finding  herself  alone  in  the  midst 
of  a  vast  dining-room,  in  an  ancient  house,  served  by  silent 
men  and  in  such  circumstances  ? 


288  BEATRIX. 

"  Order  the  carriage,"  she  said  suddenly;  **  I  am  going  to 
the  opera." 

She  dressed  splendidly ;  she  meant  to  show  herself  alone, 
and  smiling  like  a  happy  woman.  In  the  midst  of  her  re- 
morse for  the  endorsement  on  that  letter  she  was  determined 
to  triumph,  to  bring  Calyste  back  to  her  by  the  greatest  gen- 
tleness, by  wifely  virtues,  by  the  meekness  of  a  Paschal  lamb. 
She  would  lie  to  all  Paris.  She  loved  him,  she  loved  him  as 
courtesans  love,  or  angels,  with  pride  and  with  humility. 

But  the  opera  was  "  Othello."  When  Rubini  sang  //  mio 
cor  si  divide,  she  fled.  Music  is  often  more  powerful  than  the 
poet  and  the  actor,  the  two  most  formidable  natures  com- 
bined. Savinien  de  Portenduere  accompanied  Sabine  to  the 
portico  and  put  her  into  her  carriage,  unable  to  account  for 
her  precipitate  escape. 

Madame  du  Guenic  now  entered  on  a  period  of  sufferings 
such  as  only  the  highest  classes  can  know.  You  who  are 
poor,  envious,  wretched,  when  you  see  on  ladies'  arms  those 
snakes  with  diamond  heads,  those  necklaces  and  pins,  tell 
yourselves  that  those  vipers  sting,  that  those  necklaces  have 
poisoned  teeth,  that  those  light  bonds  cut  into  the  tender 
flesh  to  the  very  quick.  All  this  luxury  must  be  paid  for.  In 
Sabine's  position  women  can  curse  the  pleasures  of  wealth; 
they  cease  to  see  the  gilding  of  their  rooms,  the  silk  of  sofas 
is  as  tow,  exotic  flowers  as  nettles,  perfumes  stink,  miracles 
of  cookery  scrape  the  throat  like  barley-bread,  and  life  has 
the  bitterness  of  the  Dead  Sea. 

Two  or  three  instances  will  so  plainly  show  the  reaction 
of  a  room  or  of  a  woman  on  happiness,  that  every  one  who 
has  experienced  it  will  be  reminded  of  their  home-life. 

Sabine,  warned  of  the  dreadful  truth,  studied  her  husband 
when  he  was  going  out,  to  guess  at  the  day's  prospects. 
With  what  a  surge  of  suppressed  fury  does  a  woman  fling 
herself  on  to  the  red-hot  pikes  of  such  torture?  What  joy 
for  Sabine  when  he  did  not  go  to  the  Rue  de  Courcelles ! 


BE  A  TRIX.  289 

When  he  came  in  she  would  look  at  his  brow,  his  hair, 
his  eyes,  his  expression  and  attitude,  with  a  horrible  interest 
in  trifles,  and  the  studious  observation  of  the  most  recondite 
details  of  his  dress,  by  which  a  woman  loses  her  self-respect 
and  dignity.  These  sinister  investigations,  buried  in  her 
heart,  turned  sour  there  and  corroded  the  slender  roots, 
whence  grow  the  blue  flowers  of  holy  confidence,  the  golden 
stars  of  saintly  love,  all  the  blossoms  of  memory. 

One  day  Calyste  looked  around  at  everything  with  ill- 
humor,  but  he  stayed  at  home.  Sabine  was  coaxing  and 
humble,  cheerful  and  amusing. 

"You  are  cross  with  me,  Calyste;  am  I  not  a  good  wife? 
What  is  there  here  that  you  do  not  like?  " 

"  All  the  rooms  are  so  cold  and  bare,"  said  he.  "You  do 
not  understand  this  kind  of  thing." 

"  What  is  wanting  ?  " 

"  Flowers " 

"  Very  good,"  said  Sabine  to  herself;  "  Madame  de  Roche- 
fide  is  fond  of  flowers,  it  would  seem." 

Two  days  later  the  rooms  at  the  Hotel  du  Gu6nic  were  com- 
pletely altered.  No  house  in  Paris  could  pride  itself  on  finer 
flowers  than  those  that  decorated  it. 

Some  time  after  this  Calyste,  one  evening  after  dinner, 
complained  of  the  cold.  He  shivered  in  his  chair,  looking 
about  him  to  see  whence  the  draught  came,  and  evidently 
seeking  something  close  about  him.  It  was  some  time  before 
Sabine  could  guess  the  meaning  of  this  new  whim,  for  the  house 
was  fitted  with  a  hot-air  furnace  to  warm  the  staircase,  ante- 
rooms and  passages.  Finally,  after  three  days'  meditation,  it 
struck  her  that  her  rival  had  a  screen,  no  doubt,  so  as  to  pro- 
duce the  subdued  light  that  was  favorable  to  the  deterioration 
of  her  face  ;  so  Sabine  purchased  a  screen  made  of  glass,  and 
of  Jewish  magnificence. 

"  Which  way  will  the  wind  blow  now?  "  she  wondered. 

This  was  not  the  end  of  the  mistress'  indirect  criticism. 
19 


290  BEATRIX. 

Calyste  ate  so  little  at  home  as  to  drive  Sabine  crazy; 
he  sent  away  his  plate  after  nibbling  two  or  three  mouth- 
fuls. 

"Is  it  not  nice?"  asked  Sabine,  in  despair,  seeing  all 
the  pains  wasted  which  she  devoted  to  her  conferences  with 
the  cook. 

"I  do  not  say  so,  my  darling,"  replied  Calyste,  without 
annoyance.     "I  am  not  hungry,  that  is  all." 

A  wife  given  up  to  a  legitimate  passion  and  to  such  a  con- 
test as  this,  feels  a  sort  of  fury  in  her  desire  to  triumph 
over  her  rival,  and  often  outruns  the  mark  even  in  the 
most  secret  regions  of  married  life.  This  cruel  struggle, 
fierce  and  ceaseless,  over  the  visible  and  outward  facts  of 
home  life  was  carried  on  with  equal  frenzy  over  the  feelings 
of  the  heart.  Sabine  studied  her  attitude  and  dress,  and 
watched  herself  in  the  smallest  trivialities  of  love. 

This  matter  of  the  cookery  went  on  for  nearly  a  month. 
Sabine,  with  the  help  of  Mariotte  and  Gasselin,  invented 
stage  tricks  to  discover  what  dishes  Madame  de  Rochefide 
served  up  for  Calyste.  Gasselin  took  the  place  of  the  coach- 
man, who  fell  ill  to  order,  and  was  thus  enabled  to  make 
friends  with  Beatrix's  cook;  so  at  last  Sabine  could  give 
Calyste  the  same  fare,  only  better ;  but  again  she  saw  hira 
give  himself  airs  over  it. 

"  What  is  wanting?"  she  said. 

**  Nothing,"  he  answered,  looking  round  the  table  for 
something  that  was  not  there. 

*'  Ah  !  "  cried  Sabine  to  herself,  as  she  woke  next  morning, 
"Calyste  is  pining  for  powdered  cockroaches*  and  all  the 
English  condiments  which  are  sold  by  the  druggist  in  cruets ; 
Madame  de  Rochefide  has  accustomed  him  to  all  sorts  of 
spices. ' ' 

She  bought  an  English  cruet-stand  and  its  scorching  con- 

*  Balzac  has  hannetons,  cockchafers.  It  was  an  old  joke  that  Soy  was 
made  of  cockroaches. — Translator. 


BE  A  TRIX.  291 

tents ;  but  she  could  not  pursue  her  discoveries  down  to  every 
dainty  devised  by  her  rival. 

This  phase  lasted  for  several  months ;  nor  need  we  wonder 
when  we  remember  all  the  attractions  of  such  a  contest.  It 
is  life  \  with  all  its  wounds  and  pangs,  it  is  preferable  to  the 
blank  gloom  of  disgust,  to  the  poison  of  contempt,  to  the 
blankness  of  abdication,  to  the  death  of  the  heart  that  we 
call  indifference.  Still,  all  Sabine's  courage  oozed  out  one 
evening  when  she  appeared  dressed,  as  women  only  dress  by 
a  sort  of  inspiration,  in  the  hope  of  winning  the  victory  over 
another,  and  when  Calyste  said  with  a  laugh — 

"  Do  what  you  will,  Sabine,  you  will  never  be  anything  but 
a  lovely  Andalusian  !  " 

"Alas!  "  said  she,  sinking  on  to  her  sofa,  "I  can  never 
be  fair.  But  if  this  goes  on,  I  know  that  I  shall  soon  be  five- 
and-thirty." 

She  refused  to  go  to  the  Italian  opera ;  she  meant  to  stay 
in  her  room  all  the  evening.  When  she  was  alone  she  tore  the 
flowers  from  her  hair  and  stamped  upon  them,  she  undressed, 
trampled  her  gown,  her  sash,  all  her  finery  under  foot,  exactly 
like  a  goat  caught  in  a  loop  of  its  tether,  which  never  ceases 
struggling  till  death.  Then  she  went  to  bed.  The  maid  pres- 
ently came  in.     Imagine  her  surprise  ! 

"It  is  nothing,"  said  Sabine.     "  It  is  monsieur." 

Unhappy  wives  know  this  superb  vanity,  these  falsehoods, 
where,  of  two  kinds  of  shame  both  in  arms,  the  more 
womanly  wins  the  day. 

Sabine  was  growing  thin  under  these  terrible  agitations, 
grief  ate  into  her  soul ',  but  she  never  forgot  the  part  she  had 
forced  on  herself.  A  sort  of  fever  kept  her  up;  her  life  sent 
back  to  her  throat  the  bitter  words  suggested  to  her  by  grief; 
she  sheathed  the  lightnings  of  her  fine  black  eyes  and  made 
them  soft,  even  humble. 

Her  fading  health  was  soon  perceptible.     The  Duchess,  an 


292  BE  A  TRIX. 

admirable  mother,  though  her  piety  had  become  more  and 
more  Portuguese,  thought  there  was  some  mortal  disease  in  the 
really  sickly  condition  which  Sabine  evidently  encouraged. 
She  knew  of  the  acknowledged  intimacy  of  Calyste  and 
Beatrix.  She  took  care  to  have  her  daughter  with  her  to  try 
to  heal  her  wounded  feelings,  and,  above  all,  to  save  her 
from  her  daily  martyrdom ;  but  Sabine  for  a  long  time  re- 
mained persistently  silent  as  to  her  woes,  fearing  some  inter- 
vention between  herself  and  Calyste.  She  declared  she  was 
happy  !  Having  exhausted  sorrow,  she  fell  back  on  her  pride, 
on  all  her  virtues. 

At  the  end  of  a  month,  however,  of  being  petted  by  her 
sister  Clotilde  and  her  mother,  she  confessed  her  griefs,  told 
them  all  her  sufferings,  and  cursed  life,  saying  that  she  looked 
forward  to  death  with  delirious  joy.  She  desired  Clotilde, 
who  meant  never  to  marry,  to  be  a  mother  to  little  Calyste, 
the  loveliest  child  any  royal  race  need  wish  for  as  its  heir- 
presumptive. 

One  evening,  sitting  with  her  youngest  sister  AthenaVs — 
who  was  to  be  married  to  the  Vicomte  de  Grandlieu  after 
Lent — with  Clotilde  and  the  Duchess,  Sabine  uttered  the  last 
cry  of  her  anguish  of  heart,  wrung  from  her  by  the  extremity 
of  her  last  humiliation. 

"AthenaVs,"  said  she,  when  at  about  eleven  o'clock  the 
young  Vicomte  Juste  de  Grandlieu  took  his  leave,  "you  are 
going  to  be  married ;  profit  by  my  example !  Keep  your 
best  qualities  to  yourself  as  if  they  were  a  crime,  resist  the 
temptation  to  display  them  in  order  to  please  Juste.  Be  calm, 
dignified,  cold  ;  measure  out  the  happiness  you  give  in  pro- 
portion to  what  you  receive  !  It  is  mean,  but  it  is  necessary. 
You  see,  I  am  ruined  by  my  merits.  All  I  feel  within  me 
that  is  the  best  of  me,  that  is  fine,  holy,  noble — all  my  virtues 
have  been  rocks  on  which  my  happiness  is  shipwrecked.  I 
have  ceased  to  be  attractive  because  I  am  not  six-and-thirty ! 


BEATRIX.  293 

In  some  men's  eyes  youth  is  a  defect !  There  is  no  guess- 
work in  a  guileless  face. 

**  I  laugh  honestly,  and  that  is  quite  wrong  when,  to  be 
fascinating,  you  ought  to  be  able  to  elaborate  the  melan- 
choly, suppressed  smile  of  the  fallen  angels  who  are  obliged 
to  hide  their  long  yellow  teeth.  A  fresh  complexion  is  so 
monotonous ;  far  preferable  is  a  doll's  waxen  surface,  com- 
pounded of  rouge,  spermaceti,  and  cold-cream.  I  am  straight- 
forward, and  double  dealing  is  more  pleasing  !  I  am  frankly 
in  love  like  an  honest  woman,  and  I  ought  to  be  trained  to 
tricks  and  manoeuvres  like  a  country  actress.  I  am  intoxi- 
cated with  the  delight  of  having  one  of  the  most  charming 
men  in  France  for  my  husband,  and  I  tell  him  sincerely  how 
fine  a  gentleman  he  is,  how  gracefully  he  moves,  how  hand- 
some I  think  him  ;  to  win  him  I  ought  to  look  away  with 
affected  aversion,  to  hate  love-making,  to  tell  him  that  his  air 
of  distinction  is  simply  an  unhealthy  pallor  and  the  figure  of 
a  consumptive  patient,  to  cry  up  the  shoulders  of  the  Farnese 
Hercules,  to  make  him  angry,  keep  him  at  a  distance  as 
though  a  struggle  were  needed  to  hide  from  him  at  the  mo- 
ment of  happiness  some  imperfection  which  might  destroy 
love.  I  am  so  unlucky  as  to  be  able  to  admire  a  fine  thing 
without  striving  to  give  myself  importance  by  bitter  and  envi- 
ous criticism  of  everything  glorious  in  poetry  or  beauty.  I 
do  not  want  to  be  told  in  verse  and  in  prose  by  Canalis  and 
Nathan  that  I  have  a  superior  intellect !  I  am  a  mere  simple 
girl ;  I  see  no  one  but  Calyste  ! 

"  If  I  had  only  run  over  all  the  world  as  she  has ;  if,  like 
her,  I  had  said,  *I  love  you,'  in  every  European  tongue,  I 
should  be  made  much  of,  and  pitied,  and  adored,  and  could 
serve  him  up  a  Macedonian  banquet  of  cosmopolitan  loves ! 
A  man  does  not  thank  you  for  your  tenderness  till  you  have 
set  it  off  by  contrast  with  malignity.     So  I,  a  well-born  wife, 

must  learn  all  impurity,  the  interested  charms  of  a  harlot ! 

And  Calyste,  the  dupe  of  this  grimacing  ! Oh,  mother ! 


294  BEATRIX. 

oh,  my  dear  Clotilde  1  I  am  stricken  to  death.  My  pride  is 
a  deceptive  aegis  j  I  am  defenseless  against  sorrow ;  I  still 
love  my  husband  like  a  fool,  and  to  bring  him  back  to  me  I 
need  to  borrow  the  keen  wit  of  indifference." 

"Silly  child,"  whispered  Clotilde,  "pretend  that  you  are 
bent  on  vengeance." 

"  I  mean  to  die  blameless,  without  even  the  appearance  of 
wrong-doing,"  replied  Sabine.  "  Our  vengeance  should  be 
worthy  of  our  love." 

"  My  child,"  said  the  Duchess,  "a  mother  should  look  on 
life  with  colder  eyes  than  yours.  Love  is  not  the  end  but  the 
means  of  family  life.  Do  not  imitate  that  poor  little  Baronne 
de  Macumer.  Excessive  passion  is  barren  and  fatal.  And 
God  sends  us  our  afflictions  for  reasons  of  His  own  which  we 
cannot  understand. 

**  Now  that  Ath^naTs'  marriage  is  a  settled  thing,  I  shall 
have  time  to  attend  to  you.  I  have  already  discussed  the 
delicate  position  in  which  you  are  placed  with  your  father  and 
the  Due  de  Chaulieu  and  d'Ajuda.  We  shall  find  means  to 
bring  Calyste  back  to  you." 

"  With  the  Marquise  de  Rochefide  there  is  no  cause  for 
despair,"  said  Clotilde,  smiling  at  her  sister.  "She  does 
not  keep  her  adorers  long." 

"  D'Ajuda,  my  darling,  was  Monsieur  de  Rochefide's 
brother-in-law.  If  our  good  confessor  approves  of  the  little 
manoeuvres  we  must  achieve  to  insure  the  success  of  the  plan 
I  have  submitted  to  your  father,  I  will  guarantee  Calyste's 
return.  My  conscience  loathes  the  use  of  such  methods,  and 
I  will  lay  them  before  the  Abbe  Brossette.  We  need  not 
wait,  my  child,  till  you  are  in  extremis  to  come  to  your  assist- 
ance. Keep  up  your  hopes.  Your  grief  this  evening  is  so 
great  that  I  have  let  out  my  secret ;  I  cannot  bear  not  to  give 
you  a  little  encouragement." 

"Will  it  cause  Calyste  any  grief?"  asked  Sabine,  looking 
anxiously  at  the  Duchess. 


BEATRIX.  296 

"Bless  me,  shall  I  be  such  another  fool?"  asked  Athdnats 
simply. 

"  Oh  !  child,  you  cannot  know  the  straits  into  which  virtue 
can  plunge  us  when  she  allows  herself  to  be  overruled  by 
love  ? ' '  replied  Sabine,  so  bewildered  with  grief  that  she  fell 
into  a  vein  of  poetry. 

The  words  were  spoken  with  such  intense  bitterness  that  the 
Duchess,  enlightened  by  her  daughter's  tone,  accent,  and  look, 
understood  that  there  was  some  unconfessed  trouble. 

"  Girls,  it  is  midnight;  go  to  bed,"  said  she  to  the  two 
others,  whose  eyes  were  sparkling. 

"And  am  I  in  the  way,  too,  in  spite  of  my  six-and-thirty 
years?"  asked  Clotilde  ironically.  And  while  Athenai's  was 
kissing  her  mother,  she  whispered  in  Sabine's  ear — 

"  You  shall  tell  me  all  about  it.  I  will  dine  with  you  to- 
morrow. If  mamma  is  afraid  of  compromising  her  con- 
science, I  myself  will  rescue  Calyste  from  the  hands  of  the 
infidels." 

"  Well,  Sabine,"  said  the  Duchess,  leading  her  daughter 
into  her  bedroom,  "tell  me,  my  child,  what  is  the  new 
trouble?" 

"  Oh,  mother,  I  am  done  for  !  " 

"Why?" 

"  I  wanted  to  triumph  over  that  horrible  woman ;  I  suc- 
ceeded, I  have  another  child  coming,  and  Calyste  loves  her 
so  vehemently  that  I  foresee  being  absolutely  deserted.  When 
she  has  proof  of  this  infidelity  to  her  she  will  be  furious.  Oh, 
I  am  suffering  such  torments  that  I  must  die.  I  know  when 
he  is  going  to  her,  know  it  by  his  glee ;  then  his  surliness 
shows  me  when  he  has  left  her.  In  short,  he  makes  no  secret 
of  it ;  he  cannot  endure  me.  Her  influence  over  him  is  as 
unwholesome  as  she  is  herself,  body  and  soul.  You  will  see ; 
as  her  reward  for  making  up  some  quarrel,  she  will  insist  on  a 
public  rupture  with  me,  a  breach  like  her  own ;  she  will  carry 
him  off  to  Switzerland,  perhaps,  or  to  Italy.     He  has  been 


296  BEATRIX. 

saying  that  it  is  ridiculous  to  know  nothing  of  Europe,  and  I 
can  guess  what  these  hints  mean,  thrown  out  as  a  warning. 
If  Calyste  is  not  cured  within  the  next  three  months,  I  do  not 
know  what  will  come  of  it — I  shall  kill  myself,  I  know !  " 

**  Unhappy  child  !  And  your  son  ?  Suicide  is  a  mortal 
sin." 

"  But  you  do  not  understand — she  might  bear  him  a  child ; 

and  if  Calyste  loved  that  woman's  more  than  mine Oh  ! 

this  is  the  end  of  my  patience  and  resignation." 

She  dropped  on  a  chair;  she  had  poured  out  the  inmost 
thoughts  of  her  heart ;  she  had  no  hidden  pang  left ;  and  sor- 
row is  like  the  iron  prop  that  sculptors  place  inside  a  clay 
figure — it  is  supporting,  it  is  a  power. 

"  Well,  well,  go  home  now,  poor  little  thing  !  Face  to  face 
with  so  much  suffering,  perhaps  the  abbe  will  give  me  absolu- 
tion for  the  venial  sins  we  are  forced  to  commit  by  the  trickery 
of  the  world.  Leave  me,  daughter,"  she  said,  going  to  her 
prie-Dieu ;  "  I  will  beseech  the  Lord  and  the  blessed  Virgin 
more  especially  for  you.  Above  all,  do  not  neglect  your 
religious  duties  if  you  hope  for  success." 

**  Succeed  as  we  may,  mother,  we  can  only  save  the  family 
honor.  Calyste  has  killed  the  sacred  fervor  of  love  in  me  by 
exhausting  all  my  powers,  even  of  suffering.  What  a  honey- 
moon was  that  in  which  from  the  first  day  I  was  bitterly  con- 
scious of  his  retrospective  adultery  !  " 

At  about  one  in  the  afternoon  of  the  following  day  one  of 
the  priests  of  the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain — a  man  distin- 
guished among  the  clergy  of  Paris,  designate  as  a  bishop  in 
1840,  but  who  had  three  times  refused  a  see — the  Abbe  Bros- 
sette,  was  crossing  the  courtyard  of  the  H6tel  Grandlieu  with 
the  peculiar  gait  one  must  call  the  ecclesiastical  gait,  so  ex- 
pressive is  it  of  prudence,  mystery,  calmness,  gravity,  and 
dignity  itself.  He  was  a  small,  lean  man,  about  fifty  years 
of  age,  with  a  face  as  white  as  an  old  woman's,  chilled  by 


LEAVE    ME,    DAUGHTER,"    SHE   SAID,    GOING    TO    HER 
PRIE-DIEU, 


BE  A  TRIX.  2Sn 

priestly  fasting,  furrowed  by  all  the  sufferings  he  made  his 
own.  Black  eyes,  alight  with  faith,  but  softened  by  an  ex- 
pression that  was  mysterious  rather  than  mystical,  gave  life  to 
this  apostolic  countenance.  He  almost  smiled  as  he  went  up 
the  steps,  so  little  did  he  believe  in  the  enormity  of  the  case 
for  which  his  penitent  had  sent  for  him ;  but,  as  the  Duchess' 
hand  was  a  sieve  for  alms,  she  was  well  worth  the  time  her 
guileless  confessions  stole  from  the  serious  troubles  of  his 
parish.  On  hearing  him  announced,  the  Duchess  arose  and 
went  forward  a  few  steps  to  meet  him,  an  honor  she  did  to 
none  but  cardinals,  bishops,  priests  of  every  grade,  duchesses 
older  than  herself,  and  personages  of  the  blood  royal. 

"My  dear  abbe,"  said  she,  pointing  to  an  armchair,  and 
speaking  in  a  low  tone,  "I  require  the  authority  of  your  ex- 
perience before  I  embark  on  a  rather  nasty  intrigue,  from 
which,  however,  I  hope  for  a  good  result ;  I  wish  to  learn 
from  you  whether  I  shall  find  the  way  of  salvation  very  thorny 
in  consequence." 

"Madame  la  Duchesse,"  said  the  Abbe  Brossette,  "do  not 
mix  up  spiritual  and  worldly  matters ;  they  are  often  irrecon- 
cilable.    In  the  first  place,  what  is  this  business?" 

"My  daughter  Sabine,  you  know,  is  dying  of  grief.  Mon- 
sieur duGuenic  neglects  her  for  Madame  de  Rochefide." 

"  It  is  terrible — a  very  serious  matter;  but  you  know  what 
the  beloved  Saint-Frangois  de  Sales  says  of  such  a  case.  And 
remember  Madame  de  Guyon,  who  bewailed  the  lack  of  mys- 
ticism in  the  proofs  of  conjugal  love ;  she  would  have  been 
only  too  glad  to  find  a  Madame  de  Rochefide  for  her  husband." 

"Sabine  is  only  too  meek,  she  is  only  too  completely 
the  Christian  wife;  but  she  has  not  the  smallest  taste  for 
mysticism." 

"  Poor  young  thing  !  "  said  the  curd  slily.  "  And  what  is 
your  plan  for  remedying  the  mischief?" 

"  I  have  been  so  sinful,  my  dear  director,  as  to  think  that 
I  might  let  loose  at  her  a  smart  little  gentleman,  willful,  and 


298  BEATRIX. 

stocked  with  evil  characteristics,  who  will  certainly  get  my 
son-in-law  out  of  the  way." 

"  Daughter,"  said  he,  stroking  his  chin,  "  we  are  not  in  the 
tribunal  of  the  repentant ;  I  need  not  speak  as  your  judge. 
From  a  worldly  point  of  view,  I  confess  it  would  be  final " 

**  Such  a  proceeding  strikes  me  as  truly  odious  !  "  she  put  in. 

"  And  why  ?  It  is,  no  doubt,  far  more  the  part  of  a  Chris- 
tian to  snatch  a  woman  from  her  evil  ways  than  to  push  her 
forward  in  them ;  still,  when  she  has  already  gone  so  far  as 
Madame  de  Rochefide,  it  is  not  the  hand  of  man,  but  the 
hand  of  God,  that  can  rescue  the  sinner.  She  needs  a  special 
sign  from  heaven." 

"  Thank  you,  father,  for  your  indulgence,"  said  the  Duchess. 
"  But  we  must  remember  that  my  son-in-law  is  brave  and  a 
Breton ;  he  was  heroic  at  the  time  of  that  poor  Madame's 
attempted  rising.  Now,  if  the  young  scapegrace  who  should 
undertake  to  charm  Madame  de  Rochefide  were  to  fall  out 
with  Calyste,  and  a  duel  should  ensue " 

"There,  Madame  la  Duchesse,  you  show  your  wisdom; 
this  proves  that  in  such  devious  courses  we  always  find  some 
stumbling-block. ' ' 

"  But  I  hit  upon  a  means,  my  dear  abbe,  of  doing  good,  of 
rescuing  Madame  de  Rochefide  from  the  fatal  path  she  is 
following,  of  bringing  Calyste  back  to  his  wife,  and  of  saving 
a  poor  wandering  soul  perhaps  from  hell " 

"But,  then,  why  consult  me?"  said  the  cure,  smiling. 

"Well,"  said  the  Duchess,  "I  should  have  to  do  some 
ugly  things " 

"  You  do  not  mean  to  rob  any  one?  " 

**  On  the  contrary,  I  shall  probably  spend  a  good  deal  of 
money." 

"You  will  not  slander  anybody,  nor " 

"Oh!" 

"  Nor  do  any  injury  to  your  neighbor?  " 

"Well,  well,  I  cannot  answer  for  that." 


BEATRIX.  299 

"Let  us  hear  this  new  plan,"  said  the  cur6,  really  curious. 

"  If,  instead  of  driving  one  nail  out  by  another,  thought 
I,  as  I  knelt  on  my  prie-Dieu,  after  beseeching  the  blessed 
Virgin  to  guide  me,  I  were  to  get  Monsieur  de  Rochefide  to 
take  back  his  wife  and  pack  off  Calyste — then,  instead  of 
abetting  evil  to  do  good,  I  should  be  doing  a  good  action 
through  another  by  means  of  a  no  less  good  deed  of  my 

own ' '     The   priest   looked   at    the    lady,   and    seemed 

thoughtful. 

"  The  idea  has  evidently  come  to  you  from  so  far  that " 

"Yes,"  said  the  simple  and  humble-minded  woman,  "and 
I  have  thanked  the  Virgin.  And  I  vowed  that  beside  paying 
for  a  novena,  I  would  give  twelve  hundred  francs  to  some 
poor  family  if  I  should  succeed.  But  when  I  spoke  of  the 
matter  to  Monsieur  de  Grandlieu,  he  burst  out  laughing,  and 
said — '  I  really  believe  that  at  your  time  of  life  you  women 
have  a  special  devil  all  to  yourselves.'  " 

"  Monsieur  le  Due  said,  in  a  husband's  fashion,  just  what  I 
was  about  to  observe  when  you  interrupted  me,"  replied  the 
abbd,  who  could  not  helping  smiling. 

*'  Oh,  father,  if  you  approve  of  the  plan,  will  you  approve 
of  the  method  of  execution  ?  The  point  will  be  to  do  with  a 
certain  Madame  Schontz — a  Beatrix  of  the  Saint-Georges  quar- 
ter—what I  had  intended  to  do  with  Beatrix ;  the  Marquis  will 
then  return  to  his  wife." 

"  I  am  sure  you  will  do  no  wrong,"  said  the  abb6  dexter- 
ously, not  choosing  to  know  more,  as  he  thought  the  result 
necessary.  "  And  you  can  consult  me  if  your  conscience 
makes  itself  heard,"  he  added.  "  Supposing  that  instead  of 
affording  the  lady  in  the  Rue  Saint-Georges  some  fresh  occa- 
sion of  misconduct,  your  were  to  find  her  a  husband? " 

"Ah,  my  dear  director,  you  have  set  right  the  only  bad 
feature  of  my  scheme.  You  are  worthy  to  be  an  archbishop, 
and  I  hope  to  live  to  address  you  as  your  Eminence." 

"  In  all  this,  I  see  but  one  hitch,"  the  priest  went  on. 


800  BEATRIX. 

"And  what  is  that?" 

**  Madame  de  Rochefide  might  keep  your  son-in-law  even 
if  she  returned  to  her  husband  ?  " 

"That  is  my  affair,"  said  the  Duchess.  "We,  who  so 
rarely  intrigue,  when  we  do " 

"Do  it  badly,  very  badly,"  said  the  abb6.  "Practice  is 
needed  for  everything.  Try  to  annex  one  of  the  rascally  race 
who  live  on  intrigue  and  employ  him  without  betraying 
yourself," 

"  Oh  !  Monsieur  le  Cure,  but  if  we  have  recourse  to  hell, 
will  heaven  be  on  our  side?  " 

"You  are  not  in  the  confessional,"  replied  the  abbe; 
**save  your  child." 

The  good  Duchess,  delighted  with  the  keeper  of  her  con- 
science, escorted  him  as  far  as  the  drawing-room  door. 

A  storm,  it  will  be  seen,  was  gathering  over  Monsieur  de 
Rochefide,  who,  at  this  time,  was  enjoying  the  greatest  share 
of  happiness  that  a  Parisian  need  desire,  finding  himself  quite 
as  much  the  master  in  Madame  Schontz's  house  as  in  his  wife's; 
as  the  Duke  had  very  shrewdly  remarked  to  his  wife,  it  would 
seem  impossible  to  upset  so  delightful  and  perfect  a  plan  of 
life.  This  theory  of  the  matter  necessitates  a  few  details  as  to 
the  life  led  by  Monsieur  de  Rochefide  since  his  wife  had  placed 
him  in  the  position  of  a  deserted  husband.  We  shall  thus  un- 
derstand the  enormous  difference  in  the  view  taken  by  law 
and  by  custom  of  the  two  sexes  in  the  same  circumstances. 
Everything  that  works  woe  to  a  deserted  wife  becomes  happi- 
ness to  the  deserted  husband.  This  striking  antithesis  may 
perhaps  induce  more  than  one  young  wife  to  remain  in  her 
home  and  fight  it  out,  like  Sabine  du  Guenic,  by  practicing 
the  most  cruel  or  the  most  inoffensive  virtues,  whichever  she 
may  prefer. 

A  few  days  after  Beatrix's  flight,  Arthur  de  Rochefide — an 
only  child  after  the  death  of  his  sister,  the  first  wife  of  the 


BEATRIX.  301 

Marquis  d'Ajuda-Pinto,  who  left  him  no  children— found 
himself  master  of  the  family  mansion  of  the  Rochefides,  Rue 
d' Anjou-Saint-Honore,  and  of  two  hundred  thousand  francs  a 
year,  left  to  him  by  his  father.  This  fine  fortune,  added  to 
that  which  he  had  when  he  married,  raised  his  income,  includ- 
ing his  wife's  portion,  to  a  thousand  francs  a  day.  To  a 
gentleman  of  such  a  character  as  Mademoiselle  des  Touches 
had  sketched  to  Calyste,  such  a  fortune  was  happiness.  While 
his  wife  was  occupied  with  lovemaking  and  motherhood, 
Rochefide  was  enjoying  his  vast  possessions,  but  he  did  not 
waste  the  money  any  more  than  he  would  waste  his  intel- 
ligence. His  burly,  good-natured  conceit,  amply  satisfied 
with  the  reputation  for  being  a  fine  man,  to  which  he  owed 
some  success,  entitling  him,  as  he  believed,  to  condemn 
women  as  a  class,  gave  itself  full  play  in  the  sphere  of  intellect. 
He  was  gifted  with  the  sort  of  wit  which  may  be  termed  re- 
fracting, by  the  way  he  repeated  other  persons'  jests  and  wit- 
ticisms from  plays  or  the  newspapers ;  he  appropriated  them 
as  his  own ;  he  affected  to  ridicule  them,  caricaturing  them  in 
repetition,  and  using  them  as  a  formula  of  criticism  ;  then  his 
military  high  spirits — for  he  had  served  in  the  King's  Guard — 
lent  spice  to  his  conversation,  so  that  dull  women  called  him 
witty,  and  the  rest  dared  not  contradict  them. 

Arthur  carried  this  system  out  in  everything ;  he  owed  to 
nature  the  useful  trick  of  being  an  imitator  without  being  an 
ape  ;  he  could  imitate  quite  seriously.  And  so,  though  he  had 
no  taste,  he  was  always  the  first  to  take  up  and  to  drop  a 
fashion.  He  was  accused  of  giving  too  much  time  to  his 
toilet  and  of  wearing  stays ;  but  he  was  a  typical  example  of 
those  men  who,  by  accepting  the  notions  and  the  follies  of 
others,  never  offend  any  one,  who,  always  being  up  to  date, 
never  grow  any  older.  They  are  the  heroes  of  the  second- 
rate. 

This  husband  was  pitied ;  Beatrix  was  held  inexcusable  for 
having  run  away  from  the  best  fellow  in  the  world ;  ridicule 


302  BEATRIX. 

fell  only  on  the  wife.  This  worthy,  loyal,  and  very  silly 
gentleman,  a  member  of  every  club,  a  subscriber  to  every 
absurdity  to  which  blundering  patriotism  and  party-spirit  gave 
rise,  with  a  facile  good-nature  which  brought  him  to  the  front 
on  every  occasion,  was,  of  course,  bent  on  glorifying  himself 
by  some  fashionable  hobby.  His  chief  pride  was  to  be  the 
sultan  of  a  four-footed  seraglio,  managed  by  an  old  English 
groom,  and  this  kennel  cost  him  from  four  to  five  thousand 
francs  a  month.  His  favorite  fad  was  running  horses;  he 
patronized  breeders,  and  paid  the  expenses  of  a  paper  in  the 
racing  interest ;  but  he  knew  little  about  horses,  and  from  the 
bridle  to  the  shoes  trusted  to  his  groom.  This  is  enough  to 
show  that  this  "grass-husband"  had  nothing  of  his  own — 
neither  wit,  nor  taste,  nor  position,  nor  even  absurdities ;  and 
his  fortune  had  come  to  him  from  his  forefathers. 

After  having  tasted  all  the  annoyances  of  married  life,  he 
was  so  happy  to  find  himself  a  bachelor  again  that  he  would 
say  among  friends,  "I  was  born  to  good  luck!  "  He  re- 
joiced especially  in  being  able  to  live  free  of  the  expenses  to 
which  married  folk  are  compelled ;  and  his  house,  in  which 
nothing  had  been  altered  since  his  father's  death,  was  in  the 
state  of  a  man's  home  when  he  is  traveling;  he  rarely  went 
there,  never  fed  there,  and  scarcely  ever  slept  there. 

This  was  the  history  of  this  neglect :  After  many  love 
affairs,  tired  of  women  of  fashion,  who  are  indeed  weariful 
enough,  and  who  set  too  many  dry  thorn-hedges  round  the 
happiness  they  have  to  give,  he  had  practically  married 
Madame  Schontz,  a  woman  notorious  in  the  world  of  Fanny 
Beaupre  and  Suzanne  du  Val-Noble,  of  Mariettes,  Floren- 
tines, Jenny  Cadines,  and  the  like.  This  world — of  which 
one  of  our  draughtsmen  wittily  remarked,  as  he  pointed  to 
the  whirl  of  an  opera  ball,  "When  you  think  that  all  that 
mob  is  well  housed,  and  dressed,  and  fed,  you  can  form  a 
good  idea  of  what  men  are!" — this  dangerous  world  has 
already  been  seen  in  this  History  of  Manners  in  the  typical 


BEATRIX.  303 

figures  of  Florine  and  the  famous  Malaga  (of  "A  Daughter 
of  Eve"  and  "The  Imaginary  Mistress");  but  to  paint  it 
faithfully,  the  historian  would  have  to  represent  such  persons 
in  some  numerical  proportion  to  the  variety  of  their  strange 
individual  lives,  ending  in  poverty  of  the  most  hideous  kind, 
in  early  death,  in  ease,  in  happy  marriages,  or  sometimes  in 
great  wealth. 

Madame  Schontz,  at  first  known  as  la  Petite  Aurelie,  to 
distinguish  her  from  a  rival  far  less  clever  than  herself,  be- 
longed to  the  higher  class  of  these  women  on  whose  social 
uses  no  doubt  can  be  thrown  either  by  the  prefect  of  the 
Seine  or  by  those  who  take  an  interest  in  the  prosperity  of  the 
city  of  Paris.  Certainly  the  "rats"  accused  of  devouring 
fortunes,  which  are  often  imaginary,  in  some  respects  are 
more  like  a  beaver.  Without  the  Aspasias  of  the  Notre-Dame 
de  Lorette  quarter,  fewer  houses  would  be  built  in  Paris. 
Pioneers  of  fresh  stucco,  in  tow  of  speculation,  pitch  their 
outlying  tents  along  the  hillsides  of  Montmartre,  beyond 
those  deserts  of  masonry  which  are  to  be  seen  in  the  streets 
round  the  Place  de  I'Europe — Amsterdam,  Milan,  Stockholm, 
London,  and  Moscow — architectural  steppes  betraying  their 
emptiness  by  endless  placards  announcing  Apartments  to 
Let. 

The  position  of  these  ladies  is  commensurate  with  that  of 
their  lodgings  in  these  innominate  regions.  If  the  house  is 
near  the  line  marked  by  the  Rue  de  Provence,  the  woman 
has  money  in  the  Funds,  her  income  is  assured ;  but  if  she 
lives  out  near  the  exterior  boulevards,  or  on  the  height  toward 
the  horrible  suburb  of  BatignoUes,  she  is  certainly  poor. 

Now  when  Monsieur  de  Rochefide  first  met  Madame 
Schontz,  she  was  lodging  on  the  fourth  floor  of  the  only 
house  then  standing  in  the  Rue  de  Berlin.  The  name  of  this 
unmarried  wife,  as  you  will  have  understood,  was  neither 
Aurelie  nor  Schontz.  She  concealed  her  father's  name — that 
of  an  old  soldier  of  the  Empire,  the  perennial  colonel  who 


304  BEATRIX. 

always  adorns  the  origin  of  these  existences,  as  the  father  or 
the  seducer.  Madame  Schontz  had  enjoyed  the  benefits  of  a 
gratuitous  education  at  Saint-Denis,  where  the  young  persons 
are  admirably  taught,  but  where  the  young  persons  are  not 
provided  on  leaving  with  husbands  or  a  living — an  admirable 
foundation  of  the  Emperor's,  the  only  thing  lacking  being 
the  Emperor  himself!  '*  I  shall  be  there  to  provide  for  the 
daughters  of  my  legionaries,"  said  he,  in  answer  to  one  of  his 
ministers  who  looked  forward  to  the  future.  And  in  the  same 
way  Napoleon  said  "I  shall  be  there"  to  the  members  of 
the  Institute,  to  whom  it  would  be  better  to  give  no  honor- 
arium at  all  than  to  pay  them  eighty-three  francs  a  month,  less 
than  the  wages  of  many  an  office  clerk. 

Aurelie  was  very  certainly  the  daughter  of  the  valiant  Col- 
onel Schiltz,  a  leader  of  those  daring  Alsatian  partisans  who 
so  nearly  succeeded  in  saving  the  Emperor  in  the  French 
campaign ;  he  died  at  Metz,  robbed,  neglected,  and  ruined. 
In  1814  Napoleon  sent  little  Josephine  Schiltz,  then  nine 
years  old,  to  school  at  Saint-Denis.  Without  father  or  mother, 
home  or  money,  the  poor  child  was  not  driven  out  of  the 
institution  on  the  second  return  of  the  Bourbons.  She  re- 
mained there  as  under-teacher  until  1827 ;  but  then  her 
patience  failed  and  her  beauty  led  her  astray.  When  she 
was  of  age,  Josephine  Schiltz,  the  Empress'  god-daughter, 
embarked  on  the  adventurous  life  of  the  courtesan,  tempted 
to  this  doubtful  career  by  the  fatal  example  of  some  of  her 
school-fellows  as  destitute  as  she  was,  and  who  rejoiced  in 
their  decision.  She  substituted  on  for  /'/  in  her  father's  name, 
and  placed  herself  under  the  protection  of  Saint  Aurelia. 

Clever,  witty,  and  well  informed,  she  made  more  mistakes 
than  her  more  stupid  companions,  whose  wrong-doing  was 
always  based  on  self-interest.  After  various  connections  with 
writers,  some  poor  but  unmannerly,  some  clever  but  in  debt ; 
after  trying  her  fortune  with  some  rich  men  as  close-fisted  as 
they  were  silly ;  after  sacrificing  ease  to  a  true  passion,  and 


BEATRIX.  MB 

learning  in  every  school  where  experience  may  be  gained,  one 
day,  when,  in  the  depths  of  poverty,  she  was  dancing  at  Val- 
entino's— the  first  stage  to  Musard's — dressed  in  a  borrowed 
gown,  hat,  and  cape,  she  attracted  Rochefide's  attention ;  he 
had  come  to  see  the  famous  galop  !  Her  cleverness  bewitched 
the  gentleman,  who  had  exhausted  every  sensation ;  and  when, 
two  years  after,  being  deserted  by  Beatrix,  whose  wit  had 
often  disconcerted  him,  he  allied  himself  with  a  second-hand 
Beatrix  "  of  the  Thirteenth  Arrondissement,"  no  one  thought 
of  blaming  him. 

We  may  here  give  a  sketch  of  the  four  seasons  of  such  a 
happy  home.  It  is  desirable  to  show  how  the  theory  of  **  a 
marriage  in  the  Thirteenth  Arrondissement "  includes  all  the 
whole  connection.  Whether  a  marquis  of  forty  or  a  retired 
storekeeper  of  sixty,  a  millionaire  six  times  over  or  a  man  of 
narrow  private  means,  a  fine  gentleman  or  a  middle-class  citi- 
zen, the  tactics  of  passion,  barring  the  differences  inseparable 
from  dissimilar  social  spheres,  never  vary.  Heart  and  banking 
account  maintain  an  exact  and  definite  relation.  And  you 
will  be  able  to  form  an  idea  of  the  obstacles  the  Duchess 
must  meet  with  to  her  charitable  scheme. 

Few  persons  understand  the  power  of  words  over  ordinary 
folk  in  France,  or  the  mischief  done  by  the  wits  who  invent 
them.  For  instance,  no  bookkeeper  could  add  up  the  figures 
of  the  sums  of  money  which  have  lain  unproductive  and  rusty 
at  the  bottom  of  generous  hearts  and  full  coffers  in  conse- 
quence of  the  mean  phrase  Tirer  une  carotte — to  fleece  or 
bleed  a  victim.  The  words  have  become  so  common  that 
they  must  be  allowed  to  deface  this  page.  Beside,  if  we  ven- 
ture into  the  "Thirteenth  Arrondissement,"  we  must  needs 
adopt  its  picturesque  language. 

Monsieur  de  Rochefide,  like  all  small  minds,  was  constantly 

in  fear  of  being  bled.     From  the  beginning  of  his  attachment 

to  Madame  Schontz,  Arthur  was  on  his  guard,  and  was  at  that 

time  a  dreadful  screw,  very  rat,  to  use  another  slang  word  of 

20 


306  BEATRIX. 

the  studio  and  the  brothel.  This  word  rat  (which  in  French 
has  many  slang  uses)  when  applied  to  a  young  girl  means  the 
person  entertained,  but  applied  to  a  man  means  the  stingy 
entertainer.  Madame  Schontz  had  too  much  intelligence, 
and  knew  men  too  thoroughly,  not  to  found  high  hopes  on 
such  a  beginning.  Monsieur  de  Rochefide  allowed  Madame 
Schontz  five  hundred  francs  a  month,  furnished,  meagrely 
enough,  a  set  of  rooms  at  twelve  hundred  francs  a  year  on 
the  second  floor  of  a  house  in  the  Rue  Coquenard,  and  set 
himself  to  study  Aurelie's  character ;  and  she,  finding  herself 
spied  upon,  gave  him  character  to  study. 

Rochefide  was  delighted  to  have  come  across  a  woman  of 
such  a  noble  nature,  but  it  did  not  astonish  him  \  her  mother 
was  a  Barnheim  of  Baden,  quite  a  lady !  And  then  Aurelie 
had  been  so  well  brought  up  !  Speaking  English,  German, 
and  Italian,  she  was  versed  in  foreign  literature  ;  she  could 
pit  herself,  without  discomfiture,  against  pianists  of  the  second 
class.  And,  note  the  point !  she  behaved  as  regarded  her 
talents  like  a  woman  of  breeding  :  she  never  talked  about 
them.  In  a  painter's  studio  she  would  take  up  a  brush  in 
fun  and  sketch  a  head  with  so  much  go  as  to  amaze  the  com- 
pany. As  a  pastime,  when  she  was  pining  as  a  school-teacher, 
she  had  dabbled  in  some  sciences,  but  her  life  as  a  kept  mis- 
tress had  sown  salt  over  all  this  good  seed,  and,  of  course,  she 
laid  the  flowers  of  these  precious  growths,  revived  for  him,  at 
Arthur's  feet.  Thus  did  Aur6lie  at  first  make  a  display  of 
disinterestedness  to  match  the  pleasures  she  could  give,  which 
enabled  this  light  corvette  to  cast  her  grappling-irons  firmly 
on  board  the  statelier  craft.  Still,  even  at  the  end  of  the 
first  year,  she  made  a  vulgar  noise  in  the  anteroom,  managing 
to  come  in  just  when  the  Marquis  was  waiting  for  her,  and 
tried  to  hide  the  disgracefully  muddy  hem  of  her  gown  in 
such  a  way  as  to  make  it  more  conspicuous.  In  short,  she  so 
cleverly  contrived  to  persuade  her  Gros  Papa  that  her  utmost 
ambition,  after  so  many  vicissitudes,  was  to  enjoy  a  simple, 


BEATRIX.  807 

middle-class  existence,  that  by  the  end  of  ten  months  the 
second  phase  of  their  connection  began. 

Then  Madame  Schontz  had  a  fine  apartment  in  the  Rue 
Saint-Georges.  Arthur,  who  could  no  longer  conceal  from 
her  the  fact  of  his  wealth,  gave  her  handsome  furniture,  a 
service  of  plate,  twelve  hundred  francs  a  month,  and  a  little, 
low  carriage,  with  a  single  horse,  by  the  week,  and  he  granted 
her  a  little  groom  with  a  fairly  good  grace.  She  knew  what 
this  munificence  was  worth  ;  she  detected  the  motives  of  her 
Arthur's  conduct,  and  saw  in  them  the  calculations  of  a  close- 
fisted  man.  Tired  of  living  at  restaurants,  where  the  food  is 
generally  execrable,  where  the  simplest  dinner  of  any  refine- 
ment cost  sixty  francs,  and  two  hundred  for  a  party  of  four 
friends,  Rochefide  offered  Madame  Schontz  forty  francs  a  day 
for  his  dinner  and  a  friend's,  wine  included.  Aurelie  had  no 
mind  to  refuse.  After  getting  all  her  moral  bills  of  exchange 
accepted,  drawn  on  Monsieur  de  Rochefide's  habits  at  a 
year's  date,  she  was  favorably  heard  when  she  asked  for  five 
hundred  francs  a  year  more  for  dress;  on  the  plea  that  her 
Gros  Papa,  whose  friends  all  belonged  to  the  Jockey  Club, 
might  not  be  ashamed  of  her. 

"  A  pretty  thing,  indeed,"  said  she,  "  if  Rastignac,  Maxime 
de  Trailles,  la  Roche-Hugon,  Ronquerolles,  Laginski,  Lenon- 
court,  and  the  rest  should  see  you  with  a  Madame  Everard  ! 
Put  your  trust  in  me,  Gros  Fere,  and  you  will  be  the  gainer." 

And  Aurelie  did,  in  fact,  lay  herself  out  for  a  fresh  display 
of  virtues  in  these  new  circumstances.  She  sketched  a  part 
for  herself  as  the  housewife,  in  which  she  won  ample  credit. 
She  made  both  ends  meet,  said  she,  at  the  end  of  the  month, 
and  had  no  debts,  on  two  thousand  five  hundred  francs,  such 
a  thing  as  had  never  been  seen  in  the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain 
of  the  Thirteenth  Arrondissement— the  upper  ten  of  the  demi- 
reps world ;  and  she  gave  dinners  infinitely  better  than  Nucin- 
gen's,  with  first-class  wines  at  ten  and  twelve  francs  a  bottle. 
So  that  Rochefide,  amazed  and  delighted  to  be  able  to  ask 


308  BEATRIX. 

his  friends  pretty  often  to  his  mistress'  house  as  a  matter  of 
economy,  would  say  to  her,  with  his  arm  round  her  waist, 
*'  You  are  a  perfect  treasure  !  " 

Before  long  he  took  a  third  share  in  an  opera  box  for  her, 
and  at  last  went  with  her  to  first-night  performances.  He 
began  to  take  counsel  of  his  Aurelie,  acknowledging  the 
soundness  of  her  advice  ;  she  allowed  him  to  appropriate  the 
wit  she  was  always  ready  with ;  and  her  sallies,  being  new, 
won  him  the  reputation  for  being  an  amusing  man.  At  last 
he  felt  perfectly  sure  that  she  loved  him  truly,  and  for  himself. 
Aurelie  refused  to  make  a  Russian  prince  happy  at  the  rate 
of  five  thousand  francs  a  month. 

"You  are  a  happy  man,  my  dear  Marquis,"  cried  old 
Prince  Galathionne  as  they  ended  a  rubber  of  whist  at  the 
club.  *'  Yesterday,  when  you  left  us  together,  I  tried  to  get 
her  away  from  you ;  but  *  Mon  Prince,'  said  she  *  you  are  not 
handsomer  than  Rochefide  though  you  are  older ;  you  would 
beat  me,  and  he  is  like  a  father  to  me ;  show  me  then  the 
quarter  of  a  good  reason  for  leaving  him  !  I  do  not  love 
Arthur  with  the  crazy  passion  I  had  for  the  young  rogues  with 
patent-leather  shoes,  whose  bills  I  used  to  pay ;  but  I  love  him 
as  a  wife  loves  her  husband  when  she  is  a  decent  woman.' 
And  she  showed  me  to  the  door. ' ' 

This  speech,  which  had  no  appearance  of  exaggeration,  had 
the  effect  of  adding  considerably  to  the  state  of  neglect  and 
shabbiness  that  disfigured  the  home  of  the  Rochefides.  Ere 
long  Arthur  had  transplanted  his  existence  and  his  pleasures 
to  Madame  Schontz's  lodgings,  and  found  it  answer ;  for  by 
the  end  of  three  years  he  had  four  hundred  thousand  francs 
to  invest. 

Then  began  the  third  phase.  Madame  Schontz  became  the 
kindest  of  mothers  to  Arthur's  son ;  she  fetched  him  from 
school  and  took  him  back  herself;  she  loaded  him  with 
presents,  sweetmeats,  and  pocket-money  ;  and  the  child,  who 
adored  her,  called  her  his  **  little  mamma."     She  advised  her 


BEATRIX.  809 

Arthur  in  the  management  of  his  money-matters,  making  him 
buy  consols  at  the  fall  before  the  famous  treaty  of  London, 
which  led  to  the  overthrow  of  the  Ministry  on  the  ist  of 
March.  Arthur  made  two  hundred  thousand  francs,  and 
Aurelie  did  not  ask  for  a  sou.  Rochefide,  being  a  gentleman, 
invested  his  six  hundred  thousand  francs  in  bank  bills,  half  of 
them  in  the  name  of  Mademoiselle  Josephine  Schiltz. 

A  small  house,  rented  in  the  Rue  de  la  Bruy^re,  was  placed 
in  the  hands  of  Grindot,  that  great  architect  on  a  small  scale, 
w^ith  instructions  to  make  it  a  delicious  jewel  case.  Thence- 
forth Rochefide  left  everything  in  the  hands  of  Madame 
Schontz,  who  received  the  dividends  and  paid  the  bills.  Thus 
installed  in  his  wife's  place,  she  justified  him  by  making  her 
Gros  Papa  happier  than  ever.  She  understood  his  whims  and 
satisfied  them,  as  Madame  de  Pompadour  humored  the  fancies 
of  Louis  XV.  She  was,  in  fact,  mattresse  en  titre — absolute 
mistress. 

She  now  allowed  herself  to  patronize  certain  charming 
young  men,  artists  and  literary  youths  newly  born  to  glory, 
who  disowned  the  ancients  and  the  moderns  alike,  and  tried 
to  achieve  a  great  reputation  by  achieving  nothing  else. 
Madame  Schontz's  conduct,  a  raasterwork  of  tactics,  shows 
her  superior  intelligence.  In  the  first  place,  a  party  of  ten  or 
twelve  young  men  amused  Arthur,  supplied  him  with  witty 
sayings  and  shrewd  opinions  on  every  subject,  and  never  cast 
any  doubt  on  the  fidelity  of  the  mistress  of  the  house  \  in  the 
second  place,  they  looked  up  to  her  as  a  highly  intellectual 
woman.  These  living  advertisements,  these  walking  "puflTs," 
reported  that  Madame  Schontz  was  the  most  charming  woman 
to  be  found  on  the  borderland  dividing  the  Thirteenth  Arron- 
dissement  from  the  other  twelve. 

Her  rivals,  Suzanne  Gaillard,  who  since  1838  had  the  ad- 
vantage over  her  of  being  a  legitimately  married  wife,  Fanny 
Beaupre,  Mariette,  and  Anton ia,  spread  more  than  scandalous 
reports  as  to  the  beauty  of  these  youths  and  the  kindness  with 


SIO  BEATRIX. 

which  Monsieur  de  Rochefide  welcomed  them.  Madame 
Schontz,  who  could,  she  declared,  give  these  ladies  a  start  of 
three  bad  jokes  and  beat  them,  exclaimed  one  evening,  at  a 
supper  given  by  Florine  after  an  opera,  when  she  had  set  forth 
to  them  her  good  fortune  and  her  success,  **  Do  thou  like- 
wise 1  "  a  retort  which  had  been  remembered  against  her.  At 
this  stage  of  her  career  Madame  Schontz  got  the  racers  sold, 
in  deference  to  certain  considerations,  which  she  owed  no 
doubt  to  the  critical  acumen  of  Claud  Vignon,  a  frequent 
visitor. 

"  I  could  quite  understand,"  said  she  one  day,  after  lashing 
the  horses  with  her  tongue,  "  that  princes  and  rich  men  should 
take  horse-breeding  to  heart,  but  for  the  good  of  the  country 
and  not  for  the  childish  satisfaction  of  a  gambler's  vanity. 
If  you  had  stud  stables  on  your  estates  and  could  breed  a 
thousand  or  twelve  hundred  horses,  if  each  owner  sent  the 
best  horse  in  his  stable,  and  if  every  breeder  in  France  and 
Navarre  should  compete  every  time,  it  would  be  a  great  and 
fine  thing ;  but  you  buy  a  single  horse,  as  the  manager  of  a 
theatre  engages  his  artists,  you  reduce  an  institution  to  the 
level  of  a  game,  you  have  a  Bourse  for  legs  as  you  have  a 
Bourse  for  shares.  It  is  degrading.  Would  you  spend  sixty 
thousand  francs  to  see  in  the  papers — '  Monsieur  de  Roche- 
fide's  Lelia  beat  Monsieur  le  Due  de  Rhetore's  Fleur-de  Gen&t 

by  a  length '     Why,  you  had  better  give  the  money  to  a 

poet  who  will  hand  you  down  to  immortality  in  verse  or  in 
prose,  like  the  late  lamented  Montyon  !  " 

By  dint  of  such  goading  the  Marquis  was  brought  to  see 
the  hollowness  of  the  turf;  he  saved  his  sixty  thousand  francs ; 
and  next  year  Madame  Schontz  could  say  to  him:  "I  cost 
you  nothing  now,  Arthur." 

Many  rich  men  envied  the  Marquis  his  Aurelie,  and  tried 
to  win  her  from  him ;  but,  like  the  Russian  prince,  they 
wasted  their  old  age. 

"Listen  to  me,  my  dear  fellow,"  she  had  said  a  fortnight 


BEATRIX.  311 

ago  to  Finot,  now  a  very  rich  men,  "  I  know  that  Rochefide 
would  forgive  me  for  a  little  flirtation  if  I  really  fell  in  love 
with  another  man,  but  no  woman  would  give  up  a  marquis 
who  is  such  a  thorough  good  fellow  to  take  up  with  a  parvenu 
like  you.  You  would  never  keep  me  in  such  a  position  as 
Arthur  has  placed  me  in.  He  has  made  me  all  but  his  wife, 
and  half  a  lady,  and  you  could  never  do  as  much  for  me  even 
if  you  married  me." 

This  was  the  last  rivet  that  held  the  fortunate  slave.  The 
speech  reached  those  absent  ears  for  which  it  was  intended. 

Thus  began  the  fourth  phase,  that  of  habit,  the  crowning 
victory  of  the  plan  of  campaign  which  enables  a  woman  of 
this  stamp  to  say  of  the  man,  "  I  have  him  safe  !  "  Rochefide, 
who  had  just  bought  a  pretty  house  in  the  name  of  Mademoi- 
selle Josephine  Schiltz,  a  mere  trifle  of  eighty  thousand  francs, 
had,  at  the  time  when  the  Duchess  was  laying  her  plans,  come 
to  the  point  when  he  was  vain  of  his  mistress,  calling  her 
Ninon  II.,  and  boasting  of  her  strict  honesty,  her  excellent 
manners,  her  information,  and  wit.  He  had  concentrated  his 
good  and  bad  qualities,  his  tastes  and  pleasures  all  in  Madame 
Schontz,  and  had  reached  that  stage  of  life  when  from  weari- 
ness, indifference,  or  philosophy  a  man  changes  no  more,  but 
is  faithful  to  his  wife  or  his  mistress. 

The  importance  to  which  Madame  Schontz  had  risen  in 
five  years  may  be  understood  when  it  is  said  that  to  be  intro- 
duced to  her  a  man  had  to  be  mentioned  to  her  some  time  in 
advance.  She  had  refused  to  make  the  acquaintance  of 
certain  tiresome  rich  men,  and  others  of  fly-blown  reputa- 
tions ;  she  made  no  exceptions  to  this  strict  rule  but  in  the 
case  of  certain  great  aristocratic  names. 

"  They  have  a  right  to  be  stupid,"  she  would  say,  "because 
they  are  swells." 

Ostensibly  she  possessed  the  three  hundred  thousand  francs 
that  Rochefide  had  given  her,  and  that  a  thorough  good 
fellow,  a  stockbroker   named   Gobenheim — the  only   stock- 


312  BEATRIX. 

broker  she  allowed  in  her  house — managed  for  her ;  but  she 
also  managed  for  herself  a  little  private  fortune  of  two  hun- 
dred thousand  francs,  formed  of  her  savings  on  her  house 
allowance  for  three  years,  by  constantly  buying  and  selling 
with  the  three  hundred  thousand  francs,  which  were  all  she 
would  ever  confess  to. 

"  The  more  you  make,  the  less  you  seem  to  have,"  Goben- 
heim  remarked  one  day. 

**  Water  is  so  dear !  "  said  she. 

This  unrevealed  store  was  increased  by  the  jewelry  and 
diamonds  which  Aurelie  would  wear  for  a  month  and  then 
sell,  and  by  money  given  her  for  fancies  she  had  forgotten. 
When  she  heard  herself  called  rich,  Madame  Schontz  would 
reply  that,  at  present  rates,  three  hundred  thousand  francs 
brought  in  twelve  thousand  francs,  and  that  she  had  spent  it 
all  in  the  hard  times  of  her  life  when  Lousteau  had  been  her 
lover. 

Such  method  showed  a  plan ;  and  Madame  Schontz,  you 
may  be  sure,  had  a  plan.  For  the  last  two  years  she  had  been 
jealous  of  Madame  du  Bruel,  and  the  desire  to  be  married  at 
the  mayor's  and  in  church  gnawed  at  her  heart.  Every  social 
grade  has  its  forbidden  fruit,  some  little  thing  exaggerated  by 
desire,  till  it  seems  as  weighty  as  the  globe.  This  ambition 
had,  of  course,  its  duplicate  in  the  ambition  of  a  second 
Arthur,  whom  watchfulness  had  entirely  failed  to  discover. 
Bixiou  would  have  it  that  the  favorite  was  Leon  de  Lora ;  the 
painter  believed  that  it  was  Bixiou,  who  was  now  past  forty, 
and  should  be  thinking  of  settling.  Suspicion  also  fell  on 
Victor  de  Vernisset,  a  young  poet  of  the  Canalis  school, 
whose  passion  for  Madame  Schontz  was  a  perfect  madness ; 
while  the  poet  accused  Stidmann,  a  sculptor,  of  being  his 
favored  rival.  This  artist,  a  very  good-looking  young  man, 
worked  for  goldsmiths,  for  bronze  dealers,  and  jewelers ;  he 
dreamed  of  being  a  Benvenuto  Cellini.     Claud  Vignon,  the 


BEATRIX.  313 

young  Comte  de  la  Palferine,  Gobenheim,  Vermanton,  a 
cynic  philosopher,  and  other  frequenters  of  this  lively  salon 
were  suspected  by  turns,  but  all  acquitted.  No  one  was  a 
match  for  Madame  Schontz,  not  even  Rochefide,  who  fancied 
she  had  a  weakness  for  la  Palferine,  a  clever  youth  ;  she  was, 
in  fact,  virtuous  in  her  own  interests,  and  thought  only  of 
making  a  good  match. 

Only  one  man  of  equivocal  repute  was  ever  to  be  seen  at 
Madame  Schontz' s,  and  that  was  Couture,  who  had  more 
than  once  been  howled  at  on  the  Bourse ;  but  Couture  was 
one  of  Madame  Schontz's  oldest  friends,  and  she  alone  re- 
mained faithful  to  him.  The  false  alarm  of  1840  swept  away 
this  speculator's  last  capital ;  he  had  trusted  to  the  ist  of 
March  Ministry ;  Aurelie,  seeing  that  luck  was  against  him, 
made  Rochefide  play  for  the  other  side.  It  was  she  who 
spoke  of  the  last  overthrow  of  this  inventor  of  premiums  and 
joint-stock  companies  as  a  Decouture  (unripping  a  rip). 

Couture,  delighted  to  find  a  knife  and  fork  laid  for  him  at 
Aurelie's,  and  getting  from  Finot — the  cleverest  or,  perhaps, 
the  luckiest  of  parvenus — a  few  thousand-franc  notes  now 
and  then,  was  the  only  man  shrewd  enough  to  offer  his  name 
to  Madame  Schontz,  who  studied  him  to  ascertain  whether 
this  bold  speculator  would  have  strength  enough  to  make  a 
political  career  for  himself,  and  gratitude  enough  not  to 
desert  his  wife.  A  man  of  about  forty-three  years  old,  and 
worn  for  his  age,  Couture  did  not  redeem  the  ill-repute  of  his 
name  by  his  birth  ;  he  had  little  to  say  of  his  progenitors. 
Madame  Schontz  was  lamenting  the  rarity  of  men  of  business 
capacity,  when  one  day  Couture  himself  introduced  to  her  a 
provincial  gentleman  who  happened  to  be  provided  with  the 
two  handles  by  which  women  hold  this  sort  of  pitcher  when 
they  mean  not  to  drop  it. 

A  sketch  of  this  personage'  will  be  a  portrait  of  a  certain 
type  of  young  man  of  the  day.  A  digression  will,  in  this 
case,  be  history. 


314  BEATRIX. 

In  1838  Fabien  du  Ronceret,  the  son  of  a  president  of  the 
Chamber  at  the  King's  Court  of  Caen,  having  lost  his  father 
about  a  year  before,  came  from  Alengon,  throwing  up  his 
appointment  as  magistrate,  in  which,  as  he  said,  his  father 
had  made  him  waste  his  time,  and  settled  in  Paris.  His  in- 
tention now  was  to  get  on  in  the  world  by  cutting  a  dash,  a 
Norman  scheme  somewhat  difficult  of  accomplishment,  since 
he  had  scarcely  eight  thousand  francs  a  year,  his  mother  still 
being  alive  and  enjoying  the  life-interest  of  some  fine  house- 
property  in  the  heart  of  Alengon,  This  youth  had  already, 
in  the  course  of  various  visits  to  Paris,  tried  his  foot  on  the 
tight-rope ;  he  had  discerned  the  weak  point  of  the  social 
stucco  restoration  of  1830,  and  meant  to  work  on  it  for  his 
own  profit,  following  the  lead  of  the  sharpers  of  the  middle 
class.  To  explain  this,  we  must  glance  at  one  of  the  results 
of  the  new  state  of  things. 

Modern  notions  of  equality,  which  in  our  day  have  assumed 
such  extravagant  proportions,  have  inevitably  developed  in 
private  life — in  a  parallel  line  with  political  life — pride,  con- 
ceit, and  vanity,  the  three  grand  divisions  of  the  social  /. 
Fools  wish  to  pass  for  clever  men,  clever  men  want  to  be  men 
of  talent,  men  of  talent  expect  to  be  treated  as  geniuses :  as 
to  the  geniuses,  they  are  more  reasonable ;  they  consent  to  be 
regarded  as  no  more  than  demi-gods.  This  tendency  of  the 
spirit  of  the  time,  which  in  the  Chamber  of  Deputies  makes 
the  manufacturer  jealous  of  the  statesman,  and  the  adminis- 
trator jealous  of  the  poet,  prompts  fools  to  run  down  clever 
men,  clever  men  to  run  down  men  of  talent,  men  of  talent  to 
run  down  those  who  are  a  few  inches  higher  than  themselves, 
and  the  demi-gods  to  threaten  institutions,  the  throne  itself, 
in  short,  everything  and  everybody  that  does  not  worship 
them  unconditionally. 

As  soon  as  a  nation  is  so  impolitic  as  to  overthrow  recog- 
nized social  superiority,  it  opens  the  sluice-gates,  through 
which  rushes  forthwith  a  torrent  of  second-rate  ambitions,  the 


BEATRIX.  816 

least  of  which  would  fain  be  first.  According  to  the  demo- 
crats, its  aristocracy  was  a  disease,  but  a  definite  and  circum- 
scribed disease ;  it  has  exchanged  this  for  ten  armed  and 
contending  aristocracies,  the  worst  possible  state  of  things. 
To  proclaim  the  equality  of  all  is  to  declare  the  rights  of  the 
envious.  We  are  enjoying  now  the  Saturnalia  of  the  Revolution 
transferred  to  the  apparently  peaceful  sphere  of  intelligence, 
industry,  and  politics ;  it  seems  as  though  the  reputations 
earned  by  hard  work,  good  service,  and  talent  were  a  privi- 
lege granted  at  the  expense  of  the  masses.  The  agrarian  law 
will  ere  long  be  extended  to  the  field  of  glory. 

Thus,  at  no  time  have  men  demanded  public  recognition 
on  more  puerile  grounds.  They  must  be  remarked  at  any 
cost  for  an  affectation  of  devotion  to  the  cause  of  Poland,  to 
the  penitential  system,  to  the  future  prospects  of  released  con- 
victs, to  that  of  small  rogues  under  or  over  the  age  of  twelve, 
to  any  kind  of  social  quackery.  These  various  manias  give 
rise  to  spurious  dignities — presidents,  vice-presidents,  and 
secretaries  of  societies,  which,  in  Paris,  outnumber  the  social 
questions  to  be  solved.  Society  on  a  grand  scale  has  been 
demolished  to  make  way  for  a  thousand  small  ones  in  the 
image  of  the  dead  one. 

Do  not  all  these  parasitical  organisms  point  to  decomposi- 
tion ?  Are  they  not  the  worms  swarming  in  the  carcase  ? 
All  these  social  bodies  are  the  daughters  of  one  mother- 
Vanity.  Not  thus  does  Catholic  charity  act,  or  true  benevo- 
lence ;  these  study  disease  while  healing  its  sores,  and  do  not 
speechify  in  public  on  morbid  symptoms  for  the  mere  pleasure 
of  talking. 

Fabien  du  Ronceret,  without  being  a  superior  man,  had 
divined,  by  the  exercise  of  that  acquisitive  spirit  peculiar  to 
the  Norman  race,  all  the  advantage  he  might  take  of  this 
public  distemper.  Each  age  has  its  characteristic,  which 
clever  men  trade  on.  Fabien's  only  aim  was  to  get  himself 
talked  about. 


316  BEATRIX. 

"  My  dear  fellow,  a  man  must  make  his  name  known  if  he 
wants  to  get  on,"  said  he  as  he  left,  to  du  Bousquier,  a  friend 
of  his  father's,  and  the  King  of  Alengon.  "  In  six  months  I 
shall  be  better  known  than  you." 

This  was  how  Fabien  interpreted  the  spirit  of  his  time  ;  he 
did  not  rule  it,  he  obeyed  it. 

He  had  first  appeared  in  bohemia,  a  district  of  the  moral 
topography  of  Paris  (see  "A  Prince  of  Bohemia"),  and  was 
known  as  "The  Heir,"  in  consequence  of  a  certain  premedi- 
tated parade  of  extravagance.  Du  Ronceret  had  taken  advan- 
tage of  Couture's  follies  in  behalf  of  pretty  Madame  Cadine — 
one  of  the  newer  actresses,  who  was  considered  extremely  clever 
at  the  second-class  theatres — for  whom  he  had  furnished  a 
charming  first-floor  apartment  with  a  garden,  in  the  Rue 
Blanche. 

This  was  the  way  in  which  the  men  made  acquaintance : 
The  Norman,  in  search  of  ready-made  luxury,  bought  the 
furniture  from  Couture,  with  all  the  decorative  fixtures  he 
could  not  remove  from  the  rooms,  a  garden-room  for  smoking 
in,  with  a  veranda  built  of  rustic  woodwork,  hung  with  Indian 
matting,  and  decorated  with  pottery,  to  get  to  the  smoking- 
room  in  rainy  weather.  When  the  Heir  was  complimented 
on  his  rooms,  he  called  them  his  den.  The  provincial  took 
care  not  to  mention  that  Grindot  the  architect  had  lavished 
all  his  art  there,  as  had  Stidmann  on  the  carvings,  and  Leon 
de  Lora  on  the  paintings ;  for  his  greatest  fault  was  that  form 
of  conceit  which  goes  so  far  as  lying  with  a  view  to  self-glorifi- 
cation. 

The  Heir  put  the  finishing  touch  to  this  splendor  by  build- 
ing a  conservatory  against  a  south  wall,  not  because  he  loved 
flowers,  but  because  he  meant  to  attack  public  repute  by  means 
of  horticulture.  At  this  moment  he  had  almost  attained  his 
end.  As  vice-president  of  some  gardening  society,  under  the 
presidency  of  the  Due  de  Vissembourg,  brother  of  the  Prince 
de  Chiavari,  the  younger  son  of  the  late  Mar^chal  Vernon,  he 


BEATRIX.  317 

had  been  able  to  decorate  the  vice-presidential  coat  with  the 
ribbon  of  the  Legion  of  Honor,  after  an  exhibition  of  horti- 
cultural produce,  which  he  opened  by  an  address  given  out  as 
his  own,  but  purchased  of  Lousteau  for  five  hundred  francs. 
He  was  conspicuous  by  wearing  a  flower  given  to  him  by  old 
Blondet  of  Alen^on,  Emile  Blondet's  father,  which  he  said  had 
bloomed  in  his  conservatory. 

But  this  triumph  was  nothing.  Du  Ronceret,  who  was 
anxious  to  pass  as  a  man  of  superior  intelligence,  had  schemed 
to  ally  himself  with  a  set  of  famous  men,  to  shine  by  a  reflected 
light,  a  plan  very  difficult  to  carry  out  on  the  basis  of  an  in- 
come of  eight  thousand  francs.  And,  in  fact,  he  had  looked 
by  turns,  but  in  vain,  to  Bixiou,  Stidmann,  and  L6on  de  Lora 
to  introduce  him  to  Madame  Schontz,  so  as  to  become  a 
member  of  that  menagerie  of  lions  of  every  degree.  Then  he 
dined  Couture  so  often  that  Couture  proved  categorically  to 
Madame  Schontz  that  she  had  to  admit  such  an  eccentric 
specimen,  were  it  onli'  to  secure  him  as  one  of  those  graceful 
unpaid  messengers  whom  house-mistresses  are  glad  to  employ 
on  the  errands  for  which  servants  are  unsuited. 

By  the  end  of  the  third  evening  Madame  Schontz  knew 
Fabien  through  and  through,  and  said  to  herself,  "  If  Couture 
does  not  serve  my  turn,  I  am  perfectly  certain  of  this  man. 
My  future  life  runs  on  wheels." 

So  this  simpleton,  laughed  at  by  every  one,  was  the  man  of 
her  choice  ;  but  with  a  deliberate  purpose  which  made  the 
preference  an  insult,  and  the  choice  was  never  suspected  from 
its  utter  improbability.  Madame  Schontz  turned  Fabien's 
brain  by  stolen  smiles,  by  little  scenes  on  the  threshold  when 
she  saw  him  out  the  last,  if  Monsieur  de  Rochefide  spent  the 
evening  there.  She  constantly  invited  Fabien  to  be  the  third 
with  Arthur  in  her  box  at  the  Italiens  or  at  first-night  per- 
formances ;  excusing  herself  by  saying  that  he  had  done  her 
this  or  that  service,  and  that  she  had  no  other  way  of  return- 
ing it. 


318  BEATRIX. 

Men  have  a  rivalry  of  conceit  among  themselves — in  com- 
mon indeed  with  women — in  their  desire  to  be  loved  for 
themselves.  Hence  of  all  flattering  attachments,  none  is 
more  highly  valued  than  that  of  a  Madame  Schontz  for  the 
man  she  makes  the  object  of  her  heart's  affections  in  contrast 
with  the  other  kind  of  love.  Such  a  woman  as  Madame 
Schontz,  who  played  at  being  a  fine  lady,  and  who  was  in 
truth  a  very  superior  woman,  was,  as  she  could  not  fail  to  be, 
a  subject  of  pride  to  Fabien,  who  fell  so  desperately  in  love 
with  her  that  he  never  appeared  in  her  presence  but  in  full 
dress,  patent-leather  shoes,  lemon-colored  gloves,  an  em- 
broidered and  frilled  shirt,  an  endless  variety  of  vests;  in 
short,  every  external  symptom  of  the  sincerest  adoration. 

A  month  before  the  conference  between  the  Duchess  and 
the  abbe,  Madame  Schontz  had  confided  the  secret  of  her 
birth  and  her  real  name  to  Fabien,  who  could  not  understand 
the  object  of  this  disclosure.  A  fortnight  later  Madame 
Schontz,  puzzled  by  the  Norman's  lack  of  comprehension, 
exclaimed  to  herself — 

"  Good  heavens,  what  an  idiot  I  am  !  Why,  he  believes 
that  I  am  in  love  with  him  !  " 

So  then  she  took  him  out  for  a  drive  in  the  Bois,  in  her 
carriage,  for  she  had  had  a  low  phaeton  with  a  pair  of  horses 
for  a  year  past. 

In  the  course  of  this  public  tite-a-tite  she  discussed  the 
question  of  her  ultimate  fate,  and  explained  that  she  wished 
to  get  married. 

"  I  have  seven  hundred  thousand  francs,"  said  she  ;  "  and 
I  may  confess  to  you  that  if  I  could  meet  with  a  man  of 
great  ambition,  who  could  understand  me  thoroughly,  I  would 
change  my  condition  ;  for,  do  you  know,  the  dream  of  my 
life  is  to  be  a  good  citizen's  wife,  connected  with  a  respectable 
family,  and  to  make  my  husband  and  children  all  very  happy." 

The  Norman  was  content  to  be  a  favorite  with  Madame 
Schontz ;  but  to  marry  her  seemed  madness  beyond  discussion 


BEATRIX.  319 

to  a  bachelor  of  eight-and-thirty,  of  whom  the  revolution  of 
July  had  made  a  judge.  Seeing  his  hesitation,  Madame 
Schontz  made  the  Heir  a  butt  for  the  arrows  of  her  wit,  her 
irony,  and  her  scorn,  and  turned  to  Couture.  Within  a  week 
the  speculator,  tempted  by  a  hint  of  her  savings,  offered  her 
his  hand,  his  heart,  and  his  future  prospects — all  three  of 
equal  value. 

Madame  Schontz's  manoeuvres  had  reached  this  stage  when 
Madame  de  Grandlieu  began  to  inquire  as  to  the  manners  and 
customs  of  this  Beatrix  of  the  Rue  Saint-Georges. 

Following  the  Abbe  Brossette's  advice,  the  Duchess  begged 
the  Marquis  d'Ajuda  to  bring  to  her  house  that  prince  of 
political  jugglers,  the  famous  Comte  de  Trailles,  the  Arch- 
duke of  bohemia,  and  the  youngest  of  the  young,  though  he 
was  now  fifty.  Monsieur  d'Ajuda  arranged  to  dine  with 
Maxime  at  the  club  in  the  Rue  de  Beaune,  and  proposed  that 
they  should  go  on  together  to  play  dummy  whist  with  the 
Due  de  Grandlieu,  who,  having  had  an  attack  of  the  goiit 
before  dinner,  would  be  alone.  Though  the  Duke's  son-in- 
law,  the  Duchess'  cousin,  had  every  right  to  introduce  him 
into  a  house  where  he  had  never  as  yet  set  foot,  Maxime  de 
Trailles  was  under  no  misapprehension  as  to  the  invitation 
thus  conveyed ;  he  concluded  that  either  the  Duke  or  the 
Duchess  wanted  to  make  use  of  him.  A  not  unimportant 
feature  of  the  time  is  the  club  life,  where  men  gamble  with 
others  whom  they  would  never  receive  in  their  own  houses. 

The  Duke  so  far  honored  Maxime  as  to  confess  that  he  was 
ill ;  after  fifteen  games  of  whist  he  went  to  bed,  leaving  his 
wife  with  Maxime  and  d'Ajuda.  The  Duchess,  supported 
by  the  Marquis,  explained  her  plans  to  Monsieur  de  Trailles 
and  asked  his  assistance,  while  seeming  only  to  ask  his  advice. 
Maxime  listened  to  the  end  without  saying  anything  decisive, 
and  would  not  speak  till  the  Duchess  had  asked  him  point- 
blank  to  help  her. 


320  BE  A  TRIX. 

"  I  quite  understand  the  matter,  madame,"  said  he,  after 
giving  her  one  of  those  looks — keen,  astute,  and  comprehen- 
sive— by  which  these  old  hands  can  compromise  their  allies. 
"  D'Ajuda  will  tell  you  that  I,  if  any  one  in  Paris,  can  man- 
age this  double  business,  without  your  appearing  in  it,  without 
its  being  known  even  that  I  have  been  here  this  evening.  But 
first  of  all,  we  must  settle  the  preliminaries  of  Leoben.  What 
do  you  propose  to  sacrifice  for  this  end  ? ' ' 

"Everything  that  is  required." 

"  Very  good,  Madame  la  Duchesse.  Then,  as  the  reward 
of  my  services,  you  will  do  me  the  honor  of  receiving  here 
and  giving  your  countenance  to  Madame  la  Comtesse  de 
Trailles?" 

"Are  you  married?"  exclaimed  d'Ajuda. 

"I  am  going  to  be  married  in  a  fortnight  to  the  only 
daughter  of  a  wealthy  family,  but  to  the  last  degree  middle- 
class  !  It  is  a  sacrifice  to  opinion ;  I  am  adopting  the  strict- 
est principles  of  my  government.  I  am  now  casting  my  old 
skin. 

"  So  you  will  understand,  Madame  la  Duchesse,  how  im- 
portant for  me  it  would  be  that  you  and  your  family  should 
take  up  my  wife.  I  am  quite  certain  to  be  elected  deputy 
when  my  father-in-law  retires  from  his  post,  as  he  intends 
doing,  and  I  have  been  promised  a  diplomatic  appointment 
that  befits  my  new  fortune.  I  cannot  see  why  my  wife  should 
not  be  as  well  received  as  Madame  de  Portenduere  in  a  society 
of  young  wives  where  such  stars  are  to  be  seen  as  Mesdames 
de  la  Bastie,  Georges  de  Maufrigneuse,  de  I'Estorade,  du 
Gu6nic,  d'Ajuda,  de  Restaud,  de  Rastignac,  and  de  Van- 
denesse.  My  wife  is  pretty,  and  I  will  undertake  to  wake 
her  up. 

"  Does  this  meet  your  views,  have  you  any  objections, 
Madame  la  Duchesse? 

"You  are  a  religious  woman;  and  if  you  say  yes,  your 
promise,  which  I  know  will  be  sacred,  will  help  me  immensely 


BEATRIX.  881 

in  my  changed  life.  And  it  will  be  another  good  action  ! 
Alas,  I  have  long  been  the  chief  of  a  rascally  crew;  but  I 
want  to  be  quit  of  all  that.  After  all,  our  arms  are  good : 
Azure,  a  chimera  or,  spouting  fire,  armed  gules,  scaled  vert ; 
a  chief  counter  ermine  ;  granted  by  Francis  I.,  who  thought 
it  desirable  to  give  a  patent  of  nobility  to  Louis  XI. 's  groom 
of  the  chambers — and  we  have  been  counts  since  the  time  of 
Catherine  de  Medicis." 

"I  will  receive  and  introduce  your  wife,"  replied  the 
Duchess  solemnly,  "and  my  family  shall  never  turn  its  back 
on  her,  I  give  you  ray  word." 

"Oh,  Madame  la  Duchesse,"  exclaimed  Maxime,  visibly 
touched,  **  if  Monsieur  le  Due  will  also  condescend  to  treat 
me  kindly,  I  promise  you  on  my  part  to  make  your  plan  suc- 
ceed with  no  great  loss  to  yourself.  But,"  he  went  on, 
after  a  pause,  "  you  must  pledge  yourself  to  obey  my  instruc- 
tions      This  is  the  last  intrigue  of  my  bachelor  life;  it 

must  be  carried  through  with  all  the  more  care  because  it  is  a 
good  action,"  he  said,  smiling. 

"Obey?"  said  the  Duchess.  "But  must  I  appear  in  all 
this?" 

"Indeed,  madame,  I  will  not  compromise  you,"  cried 
Maxime,  "  and  I  respect  you  too  implicitly  to  ask  for  security. 
You  have  only  to  follow  my  advice.  Thus,  for  instance,  du 
Guenic  must  be  carried  off  by  his  wife  like  a  sacred  object, 
and  kept  away  for  two  years;  she  must  take  him  to  see  Swit- 
zerland, Italy,  Germany,  the  more  strange  and  distant  lands 
the  better " 

"  Ah,  that  answers  a  fear  expressed  by  my  director,"  ex- 
claimed the  Duchess  guilelessly,  as  she  remembered  the  Abb6 
Brossette's  judicious  observation.  Maxime  and  d'Ajuda  could 
not  help  smiling  at  the  idea  of  this  coincidence  of  heaven  and 

hell. 

"To  prevent  Madame  de  Rochefide  from  ever  seeing  Calyste 
again,"  she  added,  "we  will  all  travel.  Juste  and  his  wife, 
21 


322  BEATRIX. 

Calyste  and  Sabine,  and  I.     I  will  leave  Clotilde  with  her 
father " 

"Do  not  let  us  shout  *  Victory '  just  yet,  raadame,"  said 
Maxime.  "I  foresee  immense  difficulties;  I  shall  conquer 
them,  no  doubt.  Your  esteem  and  favor  are  a  prize  for  which 
I  will  plunge  through  much  dirt ;  but  it  will  be ' ' 

"  Dirt !  "  said  the  Duchess,  interrupting  the  modern  condot- 
tiere  with  a  face  equally  expressive  of  disgust  and  surprise. 

"Ay,  and  you  will  have  to  step  in  it,  madame,  since  I  act 
for  you.  Are  you  really  so  ignorant  of  the  pitch  of  blindness 
to  which  Madame  de  Rochefide  has  brought  your  son-in-law  ? 
I  know  it,  through  Nathan  and  Canalis,  between  whom  she 
was  hesitating  when  Calyste  threw  himself  into  that  lioness' 
maw.  Beatrix  has  made  the  noble  Breton  believe  that  she 
never  loved  any  one  but  him,  that  she  is  virtuous,  that  her 
attachment  to  Conti  was  of  the  head  only,  and  that  her  heart 
and  the  rest  had  very  little  to  do  with  it — a  musical  passion, 
in  short.     As  to  Rochefide,  that  was  a  matter  of  duty. 

"  So,  you  understand,  she  is  virginal.  And  she  proves  it 
by  forgetting  her  son ;  for  a  year  past  she  has  not  made  the 
smallest  attempt  to  see  him.  The  little  Count  is,  in  point  of 
fact,  nearly  twelve  years  old,  and  he  has  found  a  mother  in 
Madame  Schontz ;  motherhood  is  the  mania,  as  you  know,  of 
women  of  that  stamp. 

"  Du  Gu6nic  would  be  cut  in  pieces,  and  let  his  wife  be  cut 
in  pieces,  for  Beatrix.  And  do  you  suppose  that  it  is  easy  to 
drag  a  man  back  from  the  depths  of  the  abyss  of  credulity? 
Why,  madame,  Shakespeare's  lago  would  waste  all  his  hand- 
kerchiefs in  such  a  task.  It  is  generally  imagined  that  Othello, 
his  younger  brother  Orosmane,  and  Saint-Preux,  and  Ren6, 
and  Werther,  and  other  lovers  who  are  famous,  typify  love ! 
Their  icy-hearted  creators  never  knew  what  was  meant  by  an 
absorbing  passion,  Moliere  alone  had  a  suspicion  of  it.  Love, 
Madame  la  Duchesse,  is  not  an  attachment  to  a  noble  woman, 
to  a  Clarissa ;  a  great  achievement  that,  on  my  word  !     Love 


BEATRIX.  323 

is  to  say  to  one's  self :  *  The  woman  I  worship  is  a  wretch ;  she 
is  deceiving  me,  she  will  deceive  me  again,  she  is  an  old  hand, 
she  smells  of  the  burning  pit ! ' — and  to  fly  to  her,  to  find  the 
blue  of  heaven,  the  flowers  of  Paradise.  That  is  how  Molidre 
loved,  and  how  we  love,  we  scamps  and  rips ;  for  I  can  cry  at 
the  great  scene  in  '  Arnolphe  ! '  That  is  how  your  son-in-law 
loves  Beatrix. 

"I  shall  have  some  difficulty  in  getting  Rochefide  from 
Madame  Schontz  \  however,  Madame  Schontz  can,  no  doubt, 
be  got  to  abet  us ;  I  will  study  her  household.  As  to  Calyste 
and  Beatrix,  it  will  need  an  axe  to  divide  them,  treachery  of 
the  best  quality,  infamy  so  base  that  your  virtuous  imagination 
could  not  go  so  low  unless  your  director  held  your  hand. 
You  have  asked  for  the  impossible,  you  shall  have  it.  Still,  in 
spite  of  my  determination  to  employ  the  sword  and  fire,  I  can- 
not absolutely  pledge  myself  to  success.  I  know  lovers  who 
do  not  shrink  under  the  most  entire  disenchantment.  You 
are  too  virtuous  to  understand  the  power  of  women  who  have 
no  virtue." 

*'  Do  not  attempt  these  infamies  till  I  shall  have  consulted 
the  Abbe  Brossette,  to  know  how  far  I  am  involved  in  them," 
cried  the  Duchess,  with  an  artlessness  that  revealed  how  selfish 
religion  can  be. 

"You  know  nothing  about  it,  my  dear  mother,"  said  the 
Marquis  d'Ajuda. 

On  the  steps,  wliile  waiting  for  Ajuda's  carriage  to  come  up, 
the  Marquis  said  to  Maxime — 

"You  have  frightened  our  good  Duchess." 

"  But  she  has  no  idea  of  the  difficulty  of  the  thing  she  wants 
done  !  Are  we  going  to  the  Jockey  Club?  Rochefide  must 
ask  me  to  dine  to-morrow  at  Schontz' s  rooms;  in  the  course 
of  to-night  my  plans  will  be  laid,  and  I  shall  have  chosen  the 
pawns  in  my  chessboard  that  are  to  move  in  the  game  I  mean 
to  play.  In  the  days  of  her  splendor  Beatrix  would  have 
nothing  to  say  to  me;  I  will  settle  accounts  with  her,  and 


824  BE  A  TRIX. 

avenge  your  sister-in-law  so  cruelly,   that   perhaps   she  will 
think  I  have  overdone  it." 

On  the  following  day  Rochefide  told  Madame  Schontz  that 
Maxime  de  Traiiles  was  coming  to  dinner.  This  was  to  warn 
her  to  display  the  utmost  luxury,  and  prepare  the  very  best 
fare  for  this  distinguished  connoisseur,  who  was  the  terror  of 
every  woman  of  Madame  Schontz's  class;  and  she  gave  as 
much  care  to  her  toilet  as  to  arranging  her  house  in  a  fitting 
way  to  receive  the  great  man. 

In  Paris  there  are  almost  as  many  royal  heads  as  there  are 
different  arts  or  special  sciences,  faculties,  or  professions;  the 
best  of  those  who  exercise  each  has  a  royal  dignity  proper  to 
himself;  he  is  revered  and  respected  by  his  peers,  who  know 
the  difficulties  of  his  work,  and  admire  unreservedly  the  man 
who  can  defy  them.  In  the  eyes  of  the  corps  de  ballet  and 
courtesans  Maxime  was  an  extremely  powerful  and  capable 
man,  for  he  had  succeeded  in  being  immensely  loved.  He 
was  admired  by  everybody  who  knew  how  hard  it  is  to  live 
in  Paris  on  decent  terms  with  your  creditors;  and  he  had 
never  had  any  rival  in  elegance,  demeanor,  and  wit  but  the 
famous  de  Marsay,  who  had  employed  him  on  political  mis- 
sions. This  is  enough  to  account  for  his  interview  with  the 
Duchess,  his  influence  over  Madame  Schontz,  and  the  au- 
thority of  his  tone  in  a  conference  he  intended  to  hold  on  the 
Boulevard  des  Italiens  with  a  young  man,  who  was  already 
famous  though  recently  introduced  to  the  bohemia  of  Paris. 

As  he  arose  next  morning,  Maxime  de  Traiiles  heard  Finot 
announced,  to  whom  he  had  sent  the  night  before ;  he  begged 
him  to  arrange  a  fortuitous  meeting  at  breakfast  at  the  Cafe 
Anglais  between  Couture,  Lousteau,  and  himself,  where  they 
would  chat  in  his  hearing.  Finot,  who  was  to  Maxime  de 
Traiiles  as  a  lieutenant  in  the  presence  of  a  marshal  of  France, 
could  refuse  him  nothing ;  it  was  indeed  too  dangerous  to 
provoke  this  lion.     So  when  Maxime  came  in  to  breakfast,  he 


J 


BEATRIX.  825 

found  Finot  and  his  two  friends  at  a  table ;  the  conversation 
had  already  been  directed  toward  the  subject  of  Madame 
Schontz.  Couture,  cleverly  steered  by  Finot  and  Lousteau, 
who,  unknown  to  himself,  was  Finot's  abettor,  let  out  every- 
thing that  the  Comte  de  Trailles  wanted  to  know  about 
Madame  Schontz. 

By  one  o'clock,  Maxime,  chewing  his  toothpick,  was  talking 
to  du  Tillet  on  the  steps  of  Tortoni's,  where  speculators  form 
a  little  Bourse  preliminary  to  real  dealings  on  'Change.  He 
seemed  to  be  absorbed  in  business,  but  he  was  waiting  to  see  the 
young  Comte  de  la  Palf6rine,  who  must  pass  that  way  sooner 
or  later.  The  Boulevard  des  Italiens  is  now  what  the  Pont 
Neuf  was  in  1650;  everybody  who  is  anybody  crosses  it  at 
least  once  a  day. 

In  fact,  within  ten  minutes,  Maxime  took  his  hand  from  du 
Tillet's  arm,  and,  nodding  to  the  young  Prince  of  bohemia, 
said  with  a  smile,  "  Two  words  with  you,  Count !  " 

The  rivals,  one  a  setting  star,  the  other  a  rising  sun,  took 
their  seat  on  four  chairs  outside  the  Caf6  de  Paris.  Maxime 
was  careful  to  place  himself  at  a  sufficient  distance  from  cer- 
tain old  fogies  who,  from  sheer  habit,  plant  themselves  in  a 
row  against  the  wall  after  one  in  the  afternoon,  to  dry  out 
their  rheumatic  pains.  He  had  ample  reasons  for  distrusting 
these  old  men.     (See  "A  Man  of  Business.") 

"  Have  you  any  debts  ?  "  asked  Maxime  de  Trailles  of  the 
young  man. 

"  If  I  had  not,  should  I  be  worthy  to  succeed  you?  "  re- 
plied la  Palferine. 

"  When  I  ask  you  such  a  question,  it  is  not  to  cast  any 
doubt  on  the  matter,"  said  de  Trailles.  "  I  only  want  to  know 
if  they  amount  to  a  respectable  sum-total,  running  into  five  or 
six." 

"  Five  or  six  what  ?  "  said  la  Palferine. 

"Six  figures!  Do  you  owe  50,000,  100,000?  My  debts 
ran  up  to  600,000  francs." 


326  BE  A  TRIX. 

La  Palferine  took  off  his  hat  with  an  air  of  mocking  re- 
spect. 

"  If  I  had  credit  enough  to  borrow  a  hundred  thousand 
francs,"  replied  he,  "  I  would  cut  my  creditors  and  go  to  live 
at  Venice  in  the  midst  of  its  masterpieces  of  painting,  spend- 
ing the  evening  at  the  theatre,  the  night  with  pretty  women, 
and " 

"At  my  age  where  would  you  be?  " 

"  I  should  not  last  so  long,"  replied  the  young  Count. 

Maxime  returned  his  rival's  civility  by  just  raising  his  hat 
with  an  expression  of  comical  gravity. 

"  That  is  another  view  of  life,"  he  replied,  as  a  connoisseur 
answering  a  connoisseur.     '*  Then  you  owe ?  " 

"  Oh,  a  mere  trifle,  not  worth  confessing  to  an  uncle,  if  I 
had  one.  He  would  disinherit  me  for  such  a  contemptible 
sum  ;  six  thousand  francs. ' ' 

"  Six  thousand  give  one  more  trouble  than  a  hundred  thou- 
sand," said  Maxime  sententiously.  "La  Palferine,  you  have 
a  bold  wit,  you  have  even  more  wit  than  boldness ;  you  may 
go  far  and  become  a  political  personage.  Look  here — of  all 
the  men  who  have  rushed  into  the  career  which  I  have  run, 
and  who  have  been  pitted  against  me,  you  are  the  only  one  I 
ever  liked." 

La  Palferine  colored,  so  greatly  was  he  flattered  by  this  con- 
fession, made  with  gracious  bluntness,  by  the  greatest  of 
Parisian  adventurers.  This  instinct  of  vanity  was  a  confession 
of  inferiority  which  annoyed  him;  but  Maxime  understood 
the  reaction  easy  to  foresee  in  so  clever  a  man,  and  did  his 
best  to  correct  it  at  once  by  placing  himself  at  the  young 
man's  discretion. 

"Will  you  do  something  for  me  now  that  I  am  retiring 
from  the  Olympian  course  by  marrying,  and  marrying  well  ? 
I  would  do  a  good  deal  for  you,"  he  added. 

"  You  make  me  very  proud,"  said  la  Palferine;  "  this  is  to 
put  the  fable  of  the  lion  and  the  mouse  into  practice." 


BEATRIX.  2IZI 

"  In  the  first  place,  I  will  lend  you  twenty  thousand  francs," 
Maxime  went  on. 

"Twenty  thousand  francs?  I  knew  that  if  I  walked  this 
boulevard  long  enough ! ' '  said  la  Palferine  in  a  paren- 
thesis. 

"  My  dear  boy,  you  must  set  yourself  up  in  some  sort  of 
style,"  said  Maxime,  smiling.  "Do  not  trot  about  on  your 
two  feet ;  set  up  six.  Do  as  I  have  done ;  I  never  got  lower 
than  a  tilbury " 

"  But  then  you  must  want  me  to  do  something  quite  beyond 
my  powers." 

**  No.  Only  to  make  a  woman  fall  in  love  with  you  within 
a  fortnight." 

"A  woman  of  the  town?" 

"Why?" 

"  That  would  be  out  of  the  question  ;  but  if  she  is  a  lady, 
quite  a  lady,  and  very  clever " 

"  She  is  a  marquise  of  the  first  water." 

"  You  want  her  letters,"  said  the  young  Count. 

"Ah,  you  are  a  man  after  my  own  heart !  "  cried  Maxime. 
"  No.     That  is  not  what  is  wanted." 

"  I  am  really  to  love  her?  " 

"Yes,  really  and  truly." 

"  If  I  am  to  go  beyond  aesthetics,  it  is  quite  impossible," 
said  la  Palferine.  "  With  regard  to  women,  you  see,  I  have 
a  kind  of  honesty;  we  may  trick  them,  but  not " 

"Then  I  have  not  been  mistaken,"  exclaimed  Maxime. 
"  Do  you  suppose  I  am  the  man  to  scheme  for  some  little 

tu'penny  meanness? No,  you  must  go,  you  must  dazzle 

and  conquer I  give  you  twenty  thousand,  and  ten  days 

to  win  in.     Till  this  evening  at  Madame  Schontz's." 

"I  am  dining  there." 

"Good,"  said  Maxime.  "By-and-by,  when  you  want 
me,  you  will  find  me.  Monsieur  le  Comte,"  he  added,  with 
the  air  of  a  king  pledging  his  word  rather  than  promising. 


328  BEATRIX. 

'*  The  poor  woman  has  done  you  some  terrible  mischief 
then?  "  asked  la  Palferine. 

"Do  not  try  to  sound  the  depth  of  my  waters,  my  son ;  but 
let  rae  tell  you  that,  if  you  succeed,  you  will  secure  such 
powerful  interest,  that  when  you  are  tired  of  your  bohemian 
life  you  may,  like  rae,  retire  on  the  strength  of  a  rich 
marriage." 

**  Does  a  time  come,  then,  when  we  are  tired  of  amusing 
ourselves,"  said  la  Palferine,  "of  being  nothing,  of  living  as 
the  birds  live,  of  hunting  in  Paris  like  wild  men,  and  laugh- 
ing at  all  that  turns  up?  " 

"We  tire  of  everything,  even  of  hell !  "  said  Maxime  with 
a  laugh.     "  Till  this  evening." 

The  two  scamps,  the  old  one  and  the  young  one,  rose.  As 
Maxime  got  into  his  one-horse  cab,  he  said  to  himself — 

"Madame  d'Espard  cannot  endure  Beatrix;  she  will  help 
me.  To  the  Hotel  Grandlieu,"  he  cried  to  the  coachman, 
seeing  Rastignac  pass.     (Find  a  great  man  without  a  weakness.) 

Maxime  found  the  Duchess,  Madame  du  Guenic,  and  Clo- 
tilde  in  tears. 

"  What  has  happened  ?  "  he  asked  the  Duchess. 

"  Calyste  did  not  come  in — it  is  the  first  time,  and  my 
poor  Sabine  is  in  despair." 

"Madame  la  Duchesse,"  said  Maxime,  drawing  the  pious 
lady  into  a  window-bay,  "  in  the  name  of  God,  who  will 
judge  us,  do  not  breathe  a  word  as  to  my  devotion ;  pledge 
d'Ajuda  to  secrecy ;  never  let  Calyste  know  anything  of  our 
plots,  or  we  shall  fight  a  duel  to  the  death.  When  I  told  you 
this  would  not  cost  you  much,  I  meant  that  you  would  not 
have  to  spend  any  monstrous  sum.  I  want  about  twenty 
thousand  francs,  but  everything  else  is  my  business  ;  you  may 
have  to  find  some  good  appointments — one  receiver-general's, 
perhaps. ' ' 

The  Duchess  and  Maxime  left  the  room.  When  Madame 
de  Grandlieu  came  back  to  her  two  daughters,  she  heard  a 


BEATRIX.  329 

fresh  lament  from  Sabine,  full  of  domestic  details,  even  more 
heartbreaking  than  those  which  had  put  an  end  to  the  young 
wife's  happiness. 

"Be  calm,  my  child,"  said  the  Duchess  to  her  daughter; 
*' Beatrix  will  pay  dearly  for  all  your  tears  and  misery;  she 
will  endure  ten  humiliations  for  each  one  of  yours." 

Madame  Schontz  had  sent  word  to  Claud  Vignon,  who  had 
frequently  expressed  a  wish  to  make  the  acquaintance  of 
Maxime  de  Trailles ;  she  invited  Couture,  Fabien,  Bixiou, 
Leon  de  Lora,  la  Palferine,  and  Nathan,  whom  Rochefide 
begged  to  have  for  Maxime's  benefit.  Thus  she  had  a  party 
of  nine,  all  of  the  first  water,  excepting  du  Ronceret;  but 
the  Heir's  Norman  vanity  and  brutality  were  a  match  for 
Claud  Vignon's  literary  force,  for  Nathan's  poetry,  la  Pal- 
ferine's  acumen,  Couture's  keen  eye  to  the  main  chance, 
Bixiou's  wit,  Finot's  foresight,  Maxime's  depth,  and  Ldon  de 
Lora's  genius. 

Madame  Schontz,  who  aimed  at  appearing  young  and  hand- 
some, fortified  herself  in  such  a  toilet  as  women  of  that  class 
alone  can  achieve — a  point-lace  cape  of  spider-web  fineness; 
a  blue  velvet  dress,  of  which  the  elegant  bodice  was  buttoned 
with  opals ;  her  hair  in  smooth  bands  and  shining  like  ebony. 
Madame  Schontz  owed  her  fame  as  a  beauty  to  the  brilliancy 
and  color  of  a  warm,  creamy  complexion  like  a  Creole's,  a 
face  full  of  original  details,  with  the  clean-cut,  firm  features 
—of  which  the  Comtesse  de  Merlin  was  the  most  famous  ex- 
ample and  the  most  perennially  young — peculiar  perhaps  to 
southern  faces.  Unluckily,  since  her  life  had  been  so  calm, 
so  easy,  little  Madame  Schontz  had  grown  decidedly  fat. 
Her  neck  and  shoulders,  bewitchingly  round,  were  getting 
coarse.  Still,  in  France  a  woman's  face  is  thought  all-impor- 
tant, and  a  fine  head  will  secure  a  long  life  to  an  ungraceful 
shape. 

"My  dear  child,"  said  Maxime  as  he  came  in  and  kissed 


330  BE  A  mix. 

Aurelie  on  the  forehead,  "Rochefide  wanted  me  to  see  your 
home,  where  I  have  not  yet  been ;  it  is  almost  worthy  of  his 
income  of  four  hundred  thousand  francs.  Well,  he  had  less 
by  fifty  thousand  a  year  when  he  first  knew  you ;  in  less  than 
five  years  you  have  gained  for  him  as  much  as  any  other 
woman  —  Antonia,  Malaga,  Cadine,  or  Florentine — would 
have  devoured." 

"I  am  not  a  baggage — I  am  an  artist!"  said  Madame 
Schontz,  with  some  dignity.  "I  hope  to  end  by  founding  a 
family  of  respectable  folk,  as  they  say  in  the  play." 

"It  is  dreadful,  we  all  getting  married,"  said  Maxime, 
dropping  into  a  chair  by  the  fire.  "  Here  am  I  within  a  few 
days  of  making  a  Comtesse  Maxime." 

"  Oh  1  how  I  should  like  to  see  her  !"  cried  Madame  Schontz. 
"  But  allow  me,"  she  went  on,  "  to  introduce  Monsieur  Claud 
Vignon — Monsieur  Claud  Vignon,  Monsieur  de  Trailles." 

"Ah,  it  was  you  who  let  Camille  Maupin — mine  hostess  of 
literature — go  into  a  convent  ?  "  cried  Maxime.  **  After  you, 
God  !  No  one  ever  did  me  so  much  honor.  Mademoiselle 
des  Touches  made  a  Louis  XIV.  of  you,  monsieur." 

"And  this  is  how  history  is  written  !  "  said  Claud  Vignon. 
"  Did  you  not  know  that  her  fortune  was  spent  in  releasing 
Monsieur  du  Gu6nic's  estates?     If  she  knew  that  Calyste  had 

fallen  into  the  arms  of  her  ex-friend  ! "  (Maxime  kicked 

the  critic's  foot,  looking  at  Monsieur  de  Rochefide)  "  on  my 
word,  I  believe  she  would  come  out  of  her  nunnery  to  snatch 
him  from  her." 

"I  declare,  my  dear  Rochefide,"  said  Maxime,  finding 
that  his  warning  had  failed  to  check  Claud  Vignon,  "  in  your 
place  I  would  give  my  wife  her  fortune,  that  the  world  might 
not  suppose  that  she  had  taken  up  Calyste  du  Gu6nic  for  want 
of  money." 

"Maxime  is  right!"  said  Madame  Schontz,  looking  at 
Arthur,  who  colored  violently.  "  If  I  have  saved  you  some 
thousand  francs  to  invest,  you  could  not  spend  them  better. 


BEA  TRIX.  381 

I  should  have  secured  the  happiness  of  both  husband  and  wife. 
What  a  good-conduct  stripe  !  " 

"  I  never  thought  of  it,"  replied  the  Marquis.  Then,  after 
a  pause,  "  But  it  is  true ;  one  is  a  gentleman  first,  and  a  hus- 
band after." 

"  Let  me  advise  you  of  the  appropriate  moment  for  your 
generosity,"  said  Maxime. 

"  Arthur,"  said  Aurelie,  "  Maxime  is  right.  Our  generous 
actions,  you  see,  old  boy,  must  be  done  as  Couture's  shares 
must  be  sold,"  and  she  looked  in  the  glass  to  see  who  was 
coming  in,  "in  the  nick  of  time." 

Couture  was  followed  by  Finot,  and  in  a  few  minutes  all 
the  guests  were  assembled  in  the  handsome  blue-and-gold 
drawing-room  of  the  "Hotel  Schontz,"  as  the  men  called 
their  place  of  meeting  since  Rochefide  had  bought  it  for  his 
Ninon  II.  On  seeing  la  PalfSrine  come  in  the  last,  Maxime 
went  up  to  him,  drew  him  into  a  recess,  and  gave  him  the 
twenty  bank-notes. 

"Above  all,  do  not  be  stingy  with  them,"  said  he,  with 
the  native  grace  of  a  spendthrift. 

"  No  one  knows  so  well  as  you  how  to  double  the  value  of 
what  appears  to  be  a  gift,"  replied  la  Palfdrine. 

"  Then  you  agree  ?  " 

"Well,  since  I  take  the  money!"  replied  the  youth,  with 
some  pride  and  irony. 

"Very  well.  Nathan,  who  is  here,  will  take  you  within 
two  days  to  call  on  the  Marquise  de  Rochefide,"  said  Maxime 
in  his  ear. 

La  Palf6rine  jumped  as  he  heard  the  name. 

"  Do  not  fail  to  declare  yourself  madly  in  love  with  her ; 
and,  to  arouse  no  suspicions,  drink— wine,  liqueurs  no  end! 
I  will  tell  Aur61ie  to  put  you  next  to  Nathan.  Only,  my  son, 
we  must  now  meet  every  night  on  the  Boulevard  de  la  Made- 
leine, at  one  in  the  morning;  you  to  report  progress,  and  I 
to  give  you  instructions." 


882  BEATRIX. 

*'  I  will  be  there,  master,"  said  the  young  Count,  with  a 
bow. 

"  What  makes  you  ask  a  fellow  to  dine  with  us  who  comes 
dressed  like  a  waiter?"  said  Maxime  to  Madame  Schontz  in 
a  whisper  and  looking  at  du  Ronceret. 

*'  Have  you  never  seen  '  The  Heir?'  Du  Ronceret,  from 
Alengon." 

"Monsieur,"  said  Maxime  to  Fabien,  "you  must  know 
my  friend  d'Esgrignon  ?" 

"  Victorien  dropped  the  acquaintance  long  since,"  replied 
Fabien  ;  "  but  we  were  very  intimate  as  boys." 

The  dinner  was  such  as  can  only  be  given  in  Paris,  and  in 
the  houses  of  these  perfectly  reckless  women,  for  their  refined 
luxury  amazes  the  most  fastidious.  It  was  at  a  supper  of  this 
kind,  given  by  a  rich  and  handsome  courtesan  like  Madame 
Schontz,  that  Paganini  declared  that  he  had  never  eaten  such 
food  at  the  table  of  any  sovereign,  nor  drunk  such  wine  in 
any  prince's  house,  nor  heard  such  witty  conversation,  nor 
seen  such  attractive  and  tasteful  magnificence. 

Maxime  and  Madame  Schontz  were  the  first  to  return  to  the 
drawing-room,  at  about  ten  o'clock,  leaving  the  other  guests, 
who  had  ceased  to  veil  their  anecdotes,  and  who  boasted  of 
their  powers,  with  sticky  lips  glued  to  liqueur-glasses  that  they 
could  not  empty. 

"Well,  pretty  one,"  said  Maxime,  "you  are  quite  right. 
Yes,  I  came  to  get  something  out  of  you.  It  is  a  serious  mat- 
ter ;  you  must  give  up  Arthur.  But  I  will  see  that  he  gives 
you  two  hundred  thousand  francs." 

"  And  why  am  I  to  give  him  up,  poor  old  boy  ?  " 

"  To  marry  that  noodle  who  came  from  Alengon  on  pur- 
pose. He  has  already  been  a  judge  ;  I  will  get  him  made 
president  of  the  court  in  the  place  of  old  Blondet,  who  is 
nearly  eighty-two,  and,  if  you  know  how  to  catch  the  wind, 
your  husband  will  be  elected  deputy.  You  will  be  people  of 
importance,  and  crush  Madame  la  Comtesse  du  Bruel " 


SEA  TRIX.  333 

"Never!"  cried  the  wily  Madame  Schontz ;  "she  is  a 
countess." 

"  Is  he  of  the  stuff  they  make  counts  of  ?  " 

"  Well,  he  has  a  coat-of-arms,"  said  Aurelie,  seeking  a  letter 
in  a  handsome  bag  that  hung  by  the  fireplace  and  handing 
it  to  Maxime.  "  What  does  it  all  mean  ?  There  are  combs 
on  it." 

"  He  bears  :  Quarterly,  the  first  argent  three  combs  gules, 
second  and  third  three  bunches  of  grapes  with  stems  and 
leaves  all  proper,  fourth  azure  four  pens  or,  laid  in  fret. 
Motto,  Servir,  and  a  squire's  helmet.  No  great  things ! 
They  were  granted  by  Louis  XV.  They  must  have  had  some 
haberdasher  grandfather,  the  maternal  ancestry  made  money 
in  wine,  and  the  du  Ronceret  who  got  the  arms  must  have 
been  a  registrar.  But  if  you  succeed  in  throwing  off  Arthur, 
the  du  Roncerets  shall  be  Barons  at  least,  I  promise  you,  my 
pretty  pigeon.  You  see,  child,  you  must  lie  in  pickle  for  five 
or  six  years  in  the  country  if  you  want  to  bury  la  Schontz  in 
Madame  la  Presidente.  The  rascal  cast  eyes  at  you,  of  which 
the  meaning  was  quite  clear  ;  you  have  hooked  him." 

"  No,"  said  Aurelie.  "When  I  offered  him  my  hand,  he 
was  as  quiet  as  brandy  is  in  the  market." 

"  I  will  make  up  his  mind  for  him  if  he  is  tipsy.  Go  and 
see  how  they  are  all  getting  on." 

"  It  is  not  worth  the  trouble  of  going.  I  hear  no  one  but 
Bixiou  giving  one  of  his  caricatures,  to  which  nobody  is  lis- 
tening; but  I  know  my  Arthur;  he  thinks  it  necessary  to  be 
polite  to  Bixiou,  and  he  is  staring  at  him  still,  even  if  his  eyes 
are  shut." 

"  Let  us  go  back  then." 

"By-the-by,  for  whose  benefit  am  I  doing  all  this, 
Maxime  ?  "  said  Madame  Schontz  suddenly. 

"For  Madame  de  Rochefide,"  replied  Maxime  bluntly. 
"  It  is  impossible  to  patch  up  matters  between  her  and  Arthur 
so  long  as  you  keep  hold  of  him.     To  her  it  is  a  matter  of 


334  BEATRIX. 

being  at  the  head  of  her  house  and  having  four  hundred 
thousand  francs  a  year." 

"And  she  only  offers  me  two  hundred  thousand  francs 
down  ?  I  will  have  three  hundred  thousand  if  she  is  at  the 
bottom  of  it.  Wliat,  I  have  taken  every  care  of  her  brat  and 
her  husband,  I  have  filled  her  place  in  every  way,  and  she  is 
to  beat  me  down  ?  Look  here,  my  dear  fellow,  I  shall  then 
have  just  a  million.  And  beside  that,  you  promise  me  the 
presidency  of  the  court  at  Alen^on  if  only  I  can  make  up  for 
Madame  du  Ronceret " 

"  Right  you  are  !  "  said  Maxime. 

"  How  I  shall  be  bored  in  that  little  town  !  "  said  Aur6lie 
philosophically.  "I  have  heard  so  much  about  that  part  of 
the  country  from  d'Esgrignon  and  Madame  Val-Noble  that 
it  is  as  though  I  had  lived  there  already." 

" But  if  I  could  promise  you  the  help  of  the  title?  " 

"  Oh,  Maxime,  if  you  can  really  do  that.  Ay,  but  the 
pigeon  refuses  to  fly " 

"And  he  is  very  ugly,  with  his  skin  like  a  plum;  he  has 
bristles  instead  of  whiskers,  and  looks  like  a  wild  boar, 
though  he  has  eyes  like  a  bird  of  prey.  He  will  be  the  finest 
president  ever  seen.  Be  easy !  In  ten  minutes  he  will  be 
singing  you  Isabelle's  song  in  the  fourth  act  of  '  Robert  le 
Diable,'  ^Je  suis  a  tes genoux^  (I  am  at  thy  knees).  But  you 
must  undertake  to  send  Arthur  back  to  fall  at  Beatrix's  feet." 

"It  is  difficult,  but  among  us  we  may  manage  it." 

At  about  half-past  ten  the  gentlemen  came  into  the  drawing- 
room  to  take  coffee.  In  the  position  in  which  Madame 
Schontz,  Couture,  and  du  Ronceret  found  themselves,  it  is 
easy  to  imagine  the  effect  that  was  produced  on  the  ambitious 
Norman  by  the  following  conversation  between  Couture  and 
Maxime  in  a  corner,  carried  on  indeed  in  an  undertone  that 
they  might  not  be  overheard,  but  which  Fabien  contrived  to 
hear. 

"  My  dear  fellow,  if  you  were  wise,  you  would  accept  the  place 


BEATRIX.  335 

of  receiver-general  in  some  out-of-the-way  place;  Madame  de 
Rochefide  would  get  it  for  you.  Aurelie's  million  francs 
would  enable  you  to  deposit  the  security,  and  you  would 
settle  everything  on  her  as  your  wife.  Then,  if  you  steered 
your  boat  cleverly,  you  would  be  made  deputy,  and  the  only 
premium  I  ask  for  having  saved  you  will  be  your  vote  in  the 
Chamber." 

"  I  shall  always  be  proud  to  serve  under  you." 

"Oh,  my  boy,  you  have  had  a  very  close  shave!  Just 
fancy,  Aurelie  thought  herself  in  love  with  that  Norman  from 
Alengon  ;  she  wanted  to  have  him  made  a  baron,  president 
of  the  court  in  his  native  town,  and  officer  of  the  Legion  of 
Honor.  The  noodle  never  guessed  what  Madame  Schontz 
was  worth,  and  you  owe  your  good  fortune  to  her  disgust ;  so 
do  not  give  such  a  clever  woman  time  to  change  her  mind. 
For  my  part,  I  will  go  and  put  the  irons  in  the  fire." 

So  Maxime  left  Couture  in  the  seventh  heaven  of  happiness, 
and  said  to  la  Palferine,  "  Shall  I  take  you  with  me,  my  son  ?  " 

By  eleven  o'clock  Aurelie  found  herself  left  with  Couture, 
Fabien,  and  Rochefide.  Arthur  was  asleep  in  an  armchair ; 
Couture  and  Fabien  were  trying  to  outstay  each  other,  but 
without  success.  Madame  Schontz  put  an  end  to  this  contest 
by  saying  to  Couture,  "Till  to-morrow,  dear  boy!  "  which 
he  took  in  good  part. 

"Mademoiselle,"  said  Fabien,  in  a  low  voice,  "when  you 
saw  me  so  unready  to  respond  to  the  proposal  you  made  me 
indirectly,  do  not  imagine  that  there  was  the  smallest  hesita- 
tion on  my  part ;  but  you  do  not  know  my  mother ;  she 
would  never  consent  to  my  happiness " 

"You  are  of  age  to  address  her  with  a  sommaiion  respec- 
tueuse,^  my  dear  fellow,"  retorted  Aur6lie  quite  insolently. 
"  However,  if  you  are  afraid  of  mamma,  you  are  not  the  man 
for  my  money." 

*  A  legal  form  by  whicji  French  sons  can  reduce  the  obstinacy  of  recal- 
citrant parents  when  they  refuse  their  consent  to  a  marriage. 


336  BEATRIX. 

**  Josephine ! "  said  the  Heir  affectionately,  as  he  boldly 
put  his  right  arm  around  Madame  Schontz's  waist,  "I  be- 
lieved that  you  loved  me." 

"And  what  then?" 

"  I  might  perhaps  pacify  my  mother,  and  gain  more  than 
her  consent." 

"How?" 

"If  you  would  use  your  influence " 

"  To  get  you  created  baron,  officer  of  the  Legion  of  Honor, 
and  president  of  the  court,  my  boy — is  that  it?  Listen  to 
me,  I  have  done  so  many  things  in  the  course  of  my  life  that 
I  am  capable  of  being  virtuous !  I  could  be  an  honest  woman, 
a  loyal  wife,  and  take  my  husband  in  tow  to  upper  regions ; 
but  I  insist  on  being  so  loved  by  him  that  not  a  glance,  not 
a  thought,  shall  ever  be  given  to  any  heart  but  mine,  not  even 

in  a  wish How  does  that  do  for  you  ?     Do  not  bind 

yourself  rashly;  it  is  for  life,  my  boy." 

"  With  a  woman  like  you,  done,  without  looking  twice  !  " 
cried  Fabien,  as  much  intoxicated  by  a  look  as  he  was  by  the 
West  Indian  liqueurs. 

"You  shall  never  repent  of  that  word,  my  brave  boy;  you 
shall  be  a  peer  of  France.  As  to  that  poor  old  chap,"  she 
went  on,  looking  at  Rochefide  asleep,  "  it  is  a,  double  1,  all, 
o-v-e-r,  ver — all  over !  ' ' 

She  said  it  so  cleverly  and  so  prettily  that  Fabien  seized 
Madame  Schontz  and  kissed  her  with  an  impulse  of  passion 
and  joy,  in  which  the  intoxication  of  love  and  wine  were 
second  to  that  of  happiness  and  ambition. 

"But  now,  my  dear  child,"  said  she,  "you  must  remem- 
ber henceforth  to  behave  respectfully  to  your  wife,  not  to 
play  the  lover,  and  to  leave  me  to  get  out  of  my  slough  as 
decently  as  may  be.  And  Couture,  who  believed  himself  a 
rich  man  and  receiver-general ! " 

"I  have  a  horror  of  the  man,"  said  Fabien.  "I  wish  I 
might  never  see  him  again  !" 


BEATRIX.  837 

*•  I  will  have  him  here  no  more,"  said  the  courtesan  with 
a  little  prudish  air.  '*  Now  that  we  understand  each  other, 
my  Fabien,  go ;  it  is  one  o'clock." 

This  little  scene  gave  rise  in  the  Schontz  household,  hith- 
erto so  perfectly  happy,  to  a  phase  of  domestic  warfare  be- 
tween Arthur  and  Aurelie,  such  as  any  covert  interest  on  the 
part  of  one  of  the  partners  is  certain  to  give  rise  to. 

The  very  next  day  Arthur  woke  to  find  himself  alone; 
Madame  Schontz  was  cold,  as  women  of  that  sort  know 
how  to  be. 

"  What  happened  last  night?"  asked  he  at  breakfast,  look- 
ing at  Aurelie. 

"That  is  the  way  of  it  in  Paris,"  said  she.  "You  go 
to  bed  on  a  wet  night,  next  morning  the  pavement  is  dry, 
and  everything  so  frozen  that  the  dust  flies ;  would  you  like 
a  brush?" 

"  But  what  ails  you,  dear  little  woman  ?  " 

"  Go,  go  to  your  great  gawk  of  a  wife  !  " 

"My  wife?"  cried  the  unhappy  Marquis. 

"Couldn't  I  guess  why  you  brought  Maxime  here?  You 
wanted  to  make  it  up  with  Madame  de  Rochefide,  who  wants 
you  perhaps  for  some  tell-tale  baby.  And  I,  whom  you  think 
so  cunning,  was  advising  you  to  give  her  back  her  money ! 
Oh,  I  know  your  tricks.  After  five  years  my  gentleman  is 
tired  of  me.  I  am  fat,  Beatrix  is  bony ;  it  will  be  a  change. 
You  are  not  the  first  man  I  have  known  with  a  taste  for 
skeletons.  Your  Beatrix  dresses  well,  too,  and  you  are  one 
of  the  men  who  like  a  clotheshorse.  Beside,  you  want  to 
send  Monsieur  de  Guenic  packing !  That  would  be  a  tri- 
umph !  How  well  it  will  look  !  Won't  it  be  talked  about  I 
You  will  be  quite  a  hero  !  " 

At  two  o'clock  Madame  Schontz  had  not  come  to  an  end 

of  her  ironical  banter,  in  spite  of  Arthur's  protestations.    She 

said  she  was  engaged  to  dine  out.     She  desired  the  "  faithless 

one  "  to  go  without  her  to  the  Italiens ;  she  was  going  to  a 

22 


338  BEATRIX. 

first-night  performance  at  the  Ambigu-Comique,  and  to  make 
the  acquaintance  of  a  charming  woman,  Lousteau's  mistress, 
Madame  de  la  Baudraye. 

To  prove  his  eternal  attachment  to  his  little  Aur^lie  and 
his  aversion  for  his  wife,  Arthur  offered  to  set  out  the  very 
next  day  for  Italy  and  to  live  as  her  husband  in  Rome,  Na- 
ples, or  Florence,  whichever  Aurelie  might  prefer,  giving  her 
sixty  thousand  francs  a  year. 

"All  that  is  pure  whims,"  said  she.  "  That  will  not  hinder 
your  making  it  up  with  your  wife,  and  you  will  be  wise  to 
do  so." 

At  the  end  of  this  formidable  discussion,  Arthur  and  Aurelie 
parted,  he  to  play  and  dine  at  the  club,  she  to  dress  and  spend 
the  evening  Uie-a-tHe  with  Fabien. 

Monsieur  de  Rochefide  found  Maxime  at  the  club,  and 
poured  out  his  complaints,  as  a  man  who  felt  happiness  being 
torn  up  from  his  heart  by  the  roots  that  clung  by  every  fibre. 
Maxime  listened  to  the  Marquise's  lament  as  polite  people  can 
listen  while  thinking  of  something  else. 

**I  am  a  capital  counselor  in  such  cases,  my  dear  fellow," 
said  he.  **  Well,  you  make  a  great  mistake  in  letting  Aurelie 
see  how  much  you  care  for  her.  Let  me  introduce  you  to 
Madame  Antonia — a  heart  to  let.  You  will  see  la  Schontz 
sing  very  small.  Why,  she  is  seven-and-thirty,  is  your  Schontz, 
and  Antonia  is  but  twenty-six  !  And  such  a  woman  !  Her 
wits  are  not  all  in  her  brains,  I  can  tell  you.  Indeed,  she  is 
my  pupil.  If  Madame  Schontz  still  struts  out  her  pride,  do 
you  know  what  it  means  ?  ' ' 

"On  my  honor,  no." 

"That  she  means  to  get  married;  and  then  nothing  can 
hinder  her  from  throwing  you  over.  After  a  six  years*  lease 
the  woman  has  a  right  to  do  it.  But  if  you  will  listen  to  me, 
you  can  do  better  than  that.  At  the  present  time  your  wife 
is  worth  a  thousand  Schontzes  and  Antonias  of  the  Saint- 
Georges  quarter.     She  will  be  hard  to  win,  but  not  impos- 


BEATRIX,  339 

sible  ;  and  she  will  make  you  as  happy  as  Orgon  !  At  any 
rate,  if  you  do  not  wish  to  look  like  a  fool,  come  to  supper  to- 
night at  Antonia's." 

"  No,  I  love  Aurelie  too  well ;  I  will  not  allow  her  to  have 
any  cause  for  blaming  me." 

"  Oh,  my  dear  fellow  !  what  a  life  you  are  making  for  your- 
self!  "  cried  Maxime. 

''It  is  eleven  o'clock.  She  will  have  returned  from  the 
Ambigu,"  said  Rochefide,  going  off.  And  he  roared  at  the 
coachman  to  drive  as  fast  as  he  could  to  the  Rue  de  la 
Bruyere. 

Madame  Schontz  had  given  distinct  orders,  and  monsieur 
was  admitted  exactly  as  though  he  and  madame  were  the  best 
of  friends ;  but  madame,  informed  of  monsieur's  return,  took 
care  to  let  monsieur  hear  the  slam  of  her  dressing-room  door, 
shut  as  doors  are  shut  when  a  lady  is  taken  by  surprise.  Then, 
on  the  corner  of  the  piano  was  Fabien's  hat,  intentionally  for- 
gotten, and  conspicuously  fetched  away  by  the  maid  as  soon 
as  monsieur  and  madame  were  engaged  in  conversation. 

**  So  you  did  not  go  to  the  play,  little  woman  ?  " 

"No,  I  changed  my  mind." 

"And  who  has  been  here  ?  "  he  asked  quite  simply,  seeing 
the  maid  carry  away  the  hat. 

"Nobody." 

To  this  audacious  falsehood  Arthur  could  only  bow  his 
head  ;  this  was  passing  under  the  Caudine  forks  of  submission. 
True  love  has  this  magnanimous  cowardice.  Arthur  behaved 
to  Madame  Schontz  as  Sabine  did  to  Calyste,  as  Calyste  did 
to  Beatrix. 

Within  a  week  there  was  a  change  like  that  of  a  grub  to  a 
butterfly  in  the  handsome  and  clever  young  Count,  Charles- 
Edouard  Rusticoli  de  la  Palferine  (the  hero  of  the  sketch 
called  "A  Prince  of  Bohemia,"  which  makes  it  unnecessary 
to  describe  his  person  and  character  in  this  place).     Hitherto 


340  BEATRIX, 

he  had  lived  very  poorly,  making  up  his  deficits  with  the 
audacity  of  a  Danton  j  now  he  paid  his  debts,  by  Maxime's 
advice  he  had  a  little  low  carriage,  he  was  elected  to  the 
Jockey-Club,  to  the  club  in  the  Rue  de  Grammont,  he  be- 
came superlatively  elegant.  Finally,  he  published  in  the 
"Journal  des  Debats  "  a  novel  which  earned  him  in  a  few 
days  such  a  reputation  as  professional  writers  do  not  achieve 
after  many  years  of  labor  and  success,  for  in  Paris  nothing  is 
so  vehement  as  what  is  to  prove  ephemeral.  Nathan,  per- 
fectly certain  that  the  Count  would  never  write  anything 
more,  praised  this  elegant  and  impertinent  youth  to  Madame 
de  Rochefide  in  such  terms  that  Beatrix,  spurred  on  by  the 
poet's  account  of  him,  expressed  a  wish  to  see  this  prince  of 
fashionable  vagabonds. 

"  He  will  be  all  the  more  delighted  to  come  here,"  replied 
Nathan,  **  because  I  know  he  is  so  much  in  love  with  you  as 
to  commit  any  folly." 

**  But  he  has  committed  every  folly  already,  I  am  told," 
said  Beatrix. 

"Every  folly?  No,"  replied  Nathan,  "he  has  not  yet 
been  so  foolish  as  to  love  a  decent  woman." 

A  few  days  after  the  plot  of  the  boulevard  had  been  laid 
between  Maxime  and  the  seductive  Count  Charles-Edouard, 
this  young  gentleman,  on  whom  nature  had  bestowed — in 
irony,  no  doubt — a  pathetically  melancholy  countenance, 
made  his  first  incursion  into  the  nest  in  the  Rue  de  Cour- 
celles,  where  the  dove,  to  receive  him,  fixed  an  evening  when 
Calyste  was  obliged  to  go  out  with  his  wife.  If  ever  you  meet 
la  Palferine — or  when  you  come  to  the  "  Prince  of  Bohemia  " 
in  the  third  part  of  this  long  picture  of  modern  manners — 
you  will  at  once  understand  the  triumph  achieved  in  a  single 
evening  by  that  sparkling  wit,  those  astonishing  high  spirits, 
especially  if  you  can  conceive  of  the  capital  by-play  of  the 
sponsor  who  agreed  to  second  him  on  this  occasion.  Nathan 
was  a  good  fellow ;  he  showed  off  the  young  Count  as  a  jeweler 


BEATRIX.  341 

shows  off  a  necklace  he  waius  to  sell,  by  making  the  stones 
sparkle  in  the  light. 

La  Palferine  discreetly  was  the  first  to  leave ;  he  left  Nathan 
and  the  Marquise  together,  trusting  to  the  great  author's  co- 
operation, which  was  admirable.  Seeing  the  Marquise  quite 
amazed,  he  fired  her  fancy  by  a  certain  reticence,  which 
stirred  in  her  such  chords  of  curiosity  as  she  did  not  know 
existed  in  her.  Nathan  gave  her  to  understand  that  it  was 
not  so  much  la  Palferine's  wit  that  won  him  his  successes  with 
women  as  his  superior  gifts  in  the  art  of  love ;  and  he  cried 
him  up  beyond  measure. 

This  is  the  place  for  setting  forth  a  novel  result  of  the  great 
law  of  contrasts,  which  gives  rise  to  many  a  crisis  in  the 
human  heart,  and  accounts  for  so  many  vagaries  that  we  are 
forced  to  refer  to  it  sometimes,  as  well  as  to  the  law  of  affini- 
ties. Courtesans — including  all  that  portion  of  the  female 
sex  which  is  named,  unnamed,  and  renamed  every  quarter  of 
a  century — all  preserve,  in  the  depths  of  their  hearts,  a  vigor- 
ous wish  to  recover  their  liberty,  to  feel  a  pure,  saintly,  and 
heroic  love  for  some  man  to  whom  they  can  sacrifice  every- 
thing. (See  "A  Harlot's  Progress.")  They  feel  this  anti- 
thetical need  so  keenly,  that  it  is  rare  to  find  a  woman  of  the 
kind  who  has  not  many  times  aspired  to  become  virtuous 
through  love.  The  most  frightful  deception  cannot  discour- 
age them.  Women  who  are,  on  the  contrary,  restrained  by 
education,  and  by  their  rank  in  life,  fettered  by  the  dignity 
of  their  family,  living  in  the  midst  of  wealth,  crowned  by  a 
halo  of  virtue,  are  tempted— secretly,  of  course— to  try  the 
tropical  regions  of  passion.  These  two  antagonistic  types  of 
women  have,  at  the  bottom  of  their  hearts,  the  one  a  little 
craving  for  virtue,  the  other  a  little  craving  for  dissipation, 
which  Jean-Jacques  Rousseau  first  had  the  courage  to  point 
out.  In  those  it  is  the  last  gleam  of  the  divine  light  not  yet 
extinct  \  in  these  it  is  a  trace  of  the  primitive  clay. 

This  remaining  claw  of  the  beast  was  tickled,  this  hair  of 


342  BEATRIX. 

the  devil  was  pulled  with  the  greatest  skill,  by  Nathan.  The 
Marquise  seriously  wondered  whether  she  had  not  hitherto 
been  the  dupe  of  her  intellect,  whether  her  education  was 
complete.     Vice  ! — is  perhaps  the  desire  to  know  everything. 

Next  day  Calyste  was  seen  by  Beatrix  as  what  he  was — a 
perfect  and  loyal  gentleman,  devoid  of  spirit  and  wit. 

In  Paris,  to  be  known  as  a  wit,  a  man's  wit  must  flow  as 
water  flows  from  a  spring ;  for  all  men  of  fashion,  and  Paris- 
ians in  general,  are  witty.  But  Calyste  was  too  much  in  love, 
he  was  too  much  absorbed  to  observe  the  change  in  Beatrix, 
and  satisfy  her  by  opening  up  fresh  veins  ;  he  was  very  color- 
less in  the  reflected  light  of  the  previous  evening  and  could 
not  give  the  greedy  Beatrix  the  smallest  excitement.  A  great 
love  is  a  credit  account  open  to  such  voracious  drafts  on  it 
that  the  moment  of  bankruptcy  is  inevitable. 

In  spite  of  the  weariness  of  this  day — the  day  when  a 
woman  is  bored  by  her  lover  ! — Beatrix  shuddered  with  fears 
as  she  thought  of  a  duel  between  la  Palferine,  the  successor 
of  Maxime  de  Trailles,  and  Calyste  du  Guenic,  a  brave  man 
without  brag.  She  therefore  hesitated  to  see  the  young 
Count  any  more ;  but  the  knot  was  cut  by  a  simple  incident. 
Beatrix  had  a  third  share  in  a  box  at  the  Italiens — a  dark  box 
on  the  pit  tier  where  she  might  not  be  seen.  For  some  few  days 
Calyste  had  been  so  bold  as  to  accompany  the  Marquise  and 
sit  behind  her,  timing  their  arrival  late  enough  to  attract  no 
attention.  Beatrix  was  always  one  of  the  first  to  leave  before 
the  end  of  the  last  act,  and  Calyste  escorted  her,  keeping  an 
eye  on  her,  though  old  Antoine  was,  as  usual,  in  waiting  on 
his  mistress, 

Maxime  and  la  Palferine  studied  these  tactics,  dictated  by 
the  proprieties,  by  the  love  of  concealment  characteristic  of 
the  "Eternal  Baby,"  and  also  by  a  dread  that  weighs  on 
every  woman  who,  having  once  been  a  constellation  of  fashion, 
has  fallen  for  love  from  her  rank  in  the  zodiac.  She  then 
fears  humiliation  as  a  worse  agony  than  death ;  but  this  agony 


BEATRIX.  343 

of  pride,  this  shipwreck,  which  women  who  have  kept  their 
place  on  Olympus  inflict  on  those  who  have  fallen,  came  upon 
her,  by  Maxime's  contriving,  under  the  most  horrible  circum- 
stances. 

At  a  performance  of  "Lucia,"  which  ended,  as  is  well 
known,  by  one  of  Rubini's  greatest  triumphs,  Madame  de 
Rochefide,  before  she  was  called  by  Antoine,  came  out  from 
the  corridor  into  the  vestibule  of  the  theatre,  where  the  stairs 
were  crowded  with  pretty  women,  grouped  on  the  stepw,  or 
standing  in  knots  till  their  servants  should  bring  up  their 
carriages.  Beatrix  was  at  once  recognized  by  all ;  a  whisper 
ran  through  every  group,  rising  to  a  murmur.  In  the  twink- 
ling of  an  eye  every  woman  vanished ;  the  Marquise  was  left 
alone  as  if  plague-stricken.  Calyste,  seeing  his  wife  on  one 
of  the  staircases,  dared  not  join  the  outcast,  and  it  was  in 
vain  that  Beatrix  twice  gave  him  a  tearful  look,  an  entreaty  to 
come  to  her  support.  At  that  moment  la  Palfdrine,  elegant, 
lordly,  and  charming,  quitted  two  other  women,  and  came, 
with  a  bow,  to  talk  to  the  Marquise. 

"  Take  my  arm  and  come  defiantly  with  me ;  I  can  find 
your  carriage,"  said  he. 

"Will  you  finish  the  evening  with  me?"  she  replied,  as 
she  got  into  her  carriage  and  made  room  for  him  by  her  side. 

La  Palfdrine  said  to  his  groom,  "  Follow  madame's  car- 
riage," and  got  in  with  Madame  de  Rochefide,  to  Calyste's 
amazement.  He  was  left  standing,  planted  on  his  feet  as 
though  they  were  made  of  lead,  for  it  was  on  seeing  him 
looking  pale  and  blank  that  Beatrix  had  invited  the  young 
Count  to  accompany  her.  Every  dove  is  a  Robespierre  in 
white  feathers. 

Three  carriages  arrived  together  at  the  Rue  de  Courcelles 
with  lightning  swiftness— Calyste's,  la  Palf^rine's,  and  the 
Marquise's. 

"  So  you  are  here  ?  "  said  Beatrix,  on  going  into  her  draw- 
ing-room leaning  on  the  young  Count's  arm,  and  finding 


844  BEATRIX. 

Calyste  already  there,  his  horse  having  out-distanced  the 
other  two  carriages. 

"  So  you  are  acquainted  with  this  gentleman  !  "  said  Calyste 
to  Beatrix  with  suppressed  fury. 

**  Monsieur  le  Comte  de  la  Palferine  was  introduced  to  me 
by  Nathan  ten  days  ago,"  said  Beatrix;  "  and  you,  monsieur, 
have  known  me  for  four  years ' ' 

"And  I  am  ready,  madame,"  said  la  Palferine,  "  to  make 
Madame  d'Espard  repent  of  having  been  the  first  to  turn  her 
back  on  you — down  to  her  grandchildren " 

"  Oh,  it  was  she !  "  cried  Beatrix.     "  I  will  pay  her  out." 

"If  you  want  to  be  revenged,  you  must  win  back  your 
husband,  but  I  am  prepared  to  bring  him  back  to  you,"  said 
la  Palferine  in  her  ear. 

The  conversation  thus  begun  was  carried  on  until  two  in 
the  morning,  without  giving  Calyste  an  opportunity  of  speak- 
ing two  words  apart  to  Beatrix,  who  constantly  kept  his  rage 
in  subjection  by  her  glances.  La  Palferine,  who  was  not  in 
love  with  her,  was  as  superior  in  good  taste,  wit,  and  charm 
as  Calyste  was  beneath  himself;  writhing  on  his  seat  like  a 
worm  cut  in  two,  and  thrice  starting  to  his  feet  with  an  im- 
pulse to  stop  la  Palferine.  The  third  time  that  Calyste  flew 
at  his  rival,  the  Count  said,  "Are  you  in  pain,  monsieur?" 
in  a  tone  that  made  Calyste  sit  down  on  the  nearest  chair, 
and  remain  as  immovable  as  an  image. 

The  Marquise  chatted  with  the  light  ease  of  a  Celim^ne, 
ignoring  Calyste's  presence.  La  Palferine  was  so  supremely 
clever  as  to  depart  on  a  last  witty  speech,  leaving  the  two 
lovers  at  war. 

Thus,  by  Maxime's  skill,  the  flames  of  discord  were  raging 
in  the  divided  households  of  Monsieur  and  Madame  de 
Rochefide. 

On  the  morrow,  having  heard  from  la  Palferine,  at  the 
Jockey-Club,  where  the  young  Count  was  playing  whist  with 
great  profit,  of  the  success  of  the  scene  he  had  plotted,  Maxime 


BEATRIX.  346 

went  to  the  Hdtel  Schontz  to  ascertain  how  Aur61ie  was  man- 
aging her  affairs. 

"  My  dear  fellow,"  cried  Madame  Schontz,  laughing  as  she 
saw  him,  "  I  am  at  my  wits'  end.  1  am  closing  my  career 
with  the  discovery  that  it  is  a  misfortune  to  be  clever." 

"Explain  your  meaning." 

**  In  the  first  place,  my  dear  friend,  I  kept  my  Arthur  for  a 
week  on  a  regimen  of  kicking  his  shins,  with  the  most  patri- 
otic old  stories  and  the  most  unpleasant  discipline  known  in 
our  profession.  'You  are  ill,'  said  he  with  fatherly  mild- 
ness, '  for  I  have  never  been  anything  but  kind  to  you,  and  I 
perfectly  adore  you.'  'You  have  one  fault,  my  dear,'  said  I; 
'  you  bore  me. '  '  Well,  but  have  you  not  all  the  cleverest 
men  and  the  handsomest  young  fellows  in  Paris  to  amuse 
you  ? '  said  the  poor  man.  I  was  shut  up.  Then  I  felt  that  I 
loved  him." 

"  Hah  !  "  said  Maxime. 

"  What  is  to  be  done  ?  These  ways  are  too  much  for  us ;  it 
is  impossible  to  resist  them.  Then  I  changed  the  stop;  I 
made  eyes  at  that  wild  boar  of  a  lawyer,  my  future  husband, 
as  great  a  sheep  now  as  Arthur ;  I  made  him  sit  there  in  Roche- 
fide's  armchair,  and  I  thought  him  a  perfect  fool.  How 
bored  I  was !  But,  of  course,  I  had  to  keep  Fabien  there 
that  we  might  be  discovered  together •" 

"Well,"  cried  Maxime,  "  get  on  with  your  story  !  When 
Rochefide  found  you  together,  what  next?" 

"  You  would  never  guess,  my  good  fellow.  By  your  in- 
structions the  banns  are  published,  the  marriage-contract  is 
being  drawn,  Notre-Dame  de  Lorette  is  out  of  court.  When 
it  is  a  case  of  matrimony,  something  may  be  paid  on  account. 
When  he  found  us  together,  Fabien  and  me,  poor  Arthur  stole 
off  on  tiptoe  to  the  dining-room,  and  began  growling  and 
clearing  his  throat  and  knocking  the  chairs  about.  That 
great  gaby  Fabien,  to  whom  I  cannot  tell  everything,  was 
frightened,  and  that,  my  dear  Maxime,  is  the  point  we  have 


346  BEATRIX. 

reached.  Why,  if  Arthur  should  find  the  couple  of  us  some 
morning  on  coming  into  my  room,  he  is  capable  of  saying, 

*  Have  you  had  a  pleasant  night,  children  ? '  " 

Maxime  nodded  his  head,  and  for  some  minutes  sat  twirling 
his  cane. 

*'I  know  the  sort  of  man,"  said  he.  "This  is  what  you 
must  do ;  there  is  no  help  for  it  but  to  throw  Arthur  out  the 
window  and  keep  the  door  tightly  shut.  You  must  begin 
again  the  same  scene  with  Fabien " 

"  How  intolerable  !  For,  after  all,  you  see,  the  sacrament 
has  not  yet  blessed  me  with  virtue " 

"You  must  contrive  to  catch  Arthur's  eye  when  he  finds 
you  together,"  Maxime  went  on;  "if  he  gets  angry,  there  is 
an  end  of  the  matter.  If  he  only  growls  as  before,  there  is 
yet  more  an  end  of  it." 

"How?" 

"Well,  you  must  be  angry;  you  must  say,  *I  thought  you 
loved  and  valued  me ;  but  you  have  ceased  to  care  for  me ; 

you  feel  no  jealousy '  but  you  know  it  all,  chapter  and 

verse.     '  Under  such  circumstances   Maxime '  (drag  me  in) 

*  would  kill  his  man  on  the  spot '  (and  cry).  *  And  Fabien  ' 
(make  him  ashamed  of  himself  by  comparing  him  with  Fabien) 
— '  Fabien  would  have  a  dagger  ready  to  stab  you  to  the  heart. 
That  is  what  I  call  love  !  There,  go  !  Good-night,  good-by  ! 
Take  back  your  house;  I  am  going  to  marry  Fabien.  He 
will  give  me  his  name,  he  will !  He  has  thrown  over  his  old 
mother  ! '     In  short,  you " 

"Of  course,  of  course!  I  will  be  magnificent!"  cried 
Madame  Schontz.  "  Ah,  Maxime  !  There  will  never  be  but 
one  Maxime,  as  there  never  was  but  one  de  Marsay." 

"La  Palferine  is  greater  than  I,"  said  de  Trailles  modestly. 
"  He  is  getting  on  famously." 

"He  has  a  tongue,  but  you  have  backbone  and  a  grip. 
How  many  people  you  have  kept  going !  How  many  you 
have  doubled  up  !  " 


BE  A  mix.  347 

"  La  Palferine  has  every  qualification  ;  he  is  deep  and  well 
informed,  while  I  am  ignorant,"  replied  Maxime.  "I  have 
seen  Rastignac,  who  came  to  terms  at  once  with  the  keeper  of 
the  seals.  Fabien  will  be  made  president  of  the  court  and 
officer  of  the  Legion  of  Honor  after  a  year's  probation." 

"  I  will  take  up  religion,"  replied  Madame  Schontz,  em- 
phasizing the  phrase  so  as  to  win  an  approving  look  from 
Maxime. 

"  Priests  are  worth  a  hundred  of  us  !  "  said  Maxime. 

"  Really?  "  said  Aurelie.  "  Then  I  may  find  some  one  to 
talk  to  in  a  country  town.  I  have  begun  my  part.  Fabien 
has  already  told  his  mother  that  grace  has  dawned  on  me,  and 
he  has  bewitched  the  good  woman  with  my  million  and  his 
presidency ;  she  agrees  that  we  are  to  live  with  her ;  she  asked 
for  a  portrait  of  me  and  has  sent  me  hers ;  if  Love  were  to 
look  at  it,  he  would  fall  backward.  Go  then,  Maxime;  I 
will  demolish  the  poor  man  this  evening.  It  goes  to  my 
heart." 

Two  days  later  la  Palferine  and  Maxime  met  at  the  door  of 
the  Jockey-Club, 

"It  is  done,"  said  Charles-Edouard. 

The  words,  containing  a  whole  horrible  and  terrible  drama, 
such  as  vengeance  often  carries  out,  made  the  Comte  de 
Trailles  smile. 

"  We  shall  have  all  de  Rochefide's  jeremiads,"  said  Maxime, 
"  for  you  and  Aurelie  have  finished  together.  Aurelie  has 
turned  Arthur  out  of  doors,  and  now  we  must  get  hold  of  him. 
He  is  to  give  three  hundred  thousand  francs  to  Madame  du 
Ronceret  and  return  to  his  wife.  We  will  prove  to  him  that 
Beatrix  is  superior  to  Aurelie."^ 

"We  have  at  least  ten  days  before  us,"  said  Charles- 
Edouard  sapiently,  "  and  not  too  much  in  all  conscience ; 
for  now  I  know  the  Marquise,  and  the  poor  man  will  be  hand- 
somely fleeced." 


348  BEATRIX. 

"  What  will  you  do  when  the  bomb  bursts?"  asked  Max- 
ime  de  Trailles. 

**  We  can  always  be  clever  when  we  have  time  to  think  it 
out;  I  am  grand  when  I  am  able  to  prepare  for  it," 

The  two  gamblers  went  into  the  drawing-room  together, 
and  found  the  Marquis  de  Rochefide  looking  two  years  older; 
he  had  no  stays  on ;  he  had  sacrificed  his  elegance  ;  his  beard 
had  grown. 

"Well,  my  dear  Marquis?"  said  Maxime. 

"Oh,  my  dear  fellow,  my  life  is  broken "  and  for  ten 

minutes  Arthur  talked  and  Maxime  gravely  listened;  he 
was  thinking  of  his  marriage,  which  was  to  take  place  a  week 
hence. 

"  My  dear  Arthur,  I  advised  you  of  the  only  means  I  knew 
of  to  keep  Aurelie,  and  you  did  not  choose " 

"What  means?" 

"  Did  I  not  advise  you  to  go  to  supper  with  Antonia?  " 

"  Quite  true.  How  can  I  help  it?  I  love  her.  And  you, 
you  make  love  as  Grisier  fences." 

"Listen  to  me,  Arthur;  give  her  three  hundred  thousand 
francs  for  her  little  house,  and  I  promise  you  I  will  find  you 
something  better.  I  will  speak  to  you  again  of  the  unknown 
fair  one  by-and-by ;  I  see  d'Ajuda,  who  wants  to  say  two 
words  to  me." 

And  Maxime  left  the  inconsolable  man  to  talk  to  the  rep- 
resentative of  the  family  needing  consolation. 

"  My  dear  fellow,"  said  the  other  Marquis  in  an  undertone, 
"the  Duchess  is  in  despair;  Calyste  has  quietly  packed  up 
and  procured  a  passport.  Sabine  wants  to  follow  the  fugi- 
tives, catch  Beatrix,  and  claw  her.  She  is  expecting  another 
child ;  and  the  whole  thing  looks  rather  murderous,  for  she 
has  gone  quite  openly  and  bought  pistols." 

"  Tell  the  Duchess  that  Madame  de  Rochefide  is  not  going, 
and  within  a  fortnight  the  whole  thing  will  be  settled.  Now, 
your  hand  on  it,  d'Ajuda.     Neither  you  nor  I  have  said  any- 


BEATRIX.  349 

thing  or  known  anything.  We  shall  admire  the  effects  of 
chance. ' ' 

"  The  Duchess  has  already  made  me  swear  secrecy  on  the 
Gospels  and  the  cross. ' ' 

"  You  will  receive  my  wife  a  month  hence?  " 

'*  With  pleasure." 

"Everybody  will  be  satisfied,"  replied  Maxime.  "Only 
warn  the  Duchess  that  something  is  about  to  happen  which 
will  delay  her  departure  for  Italy  for  six  weeks ;  it  concerns 
Monsieur  du  Guenic.     You  will  know  all  about  it  later." 

"What  is  it?"  asked  d'Ajuda,  who  was  looking  at  la 
Palferine. 

"  Socrates  said  before  his  death,  '  We  owe  a  cock  to  iEs- 
culapius.'  But  your  brother-in-law  will  be  let  off  for  the 
comb,"  replied  la  Palferine  without  hesitation. 

For  ten  days  Calyste  endured  the  burden  of  a  woman's 
anger,  all  the  more  implacable  because  it  was  seconded  by  a 
real  passion.  Beatrix  felt  that  form  of  love  so  roughly  but 
truly  described  to  the  Duchess  by  Maxime  de  Trailles.  Per- 
haps there  is  no  highly  organized  being  that  does  not  expe- 
rience this  overwhelming  passion  once  in  a  lifetime.  The 
Marquise  felt  herself  quelled  by  a  superior  force,  by  a  young 
man  who  was  not  impressed  by  her  rank,  who,  being  of  as 
noble  birth  as  herself,  could  look  at  her  with  a  calm  and  pow- 
erful eye,  and  from  whom  her  greatest  feminine  efforts  could 
scarcely  extract  a  smile  of  admiration.  Finally,  she  was 
crushed  by  a  tyrant,  who  always  left  her  bathed  in  tears, 
deeply  hurt,  and  believing  herself  wronged.  Charles-Edouard 
played  the  same  farce  on  Madame  de  Rochefide  that  she  had 
been  playing  these  six  months  on  Calyste. 

Since  the  scene  of  her  mortification  at  the  Italiens,  Beatrix 
had  adhered  to  one  formula — 

"  You  preferred  the  world  and  your  wife  to  me,  so  you  do 
not  love  me.  If  you  wish  to  prove  that  you  do  love  me, 
sacrifice  your  wife   and  the  world.     Give  up  Sabine,  leave 


350  BEATRIX. 

her,  and  let  us  go  to  live  in  Switzerland,  in  Italy,  or  in 
Germany." 

Justifying  herself  by  this  cool  ultimatum,  she  had  estab- 
lished the  sort  of  blockade  which  women  carry  into  effect  by 
cold  looks,  scornful  shrugs,  and  a  face  like  a  stone  citadel. 
She  believed  herself  rid  of  Calyste ;  she  thought  he  would 
never  venture  on  a  breach  with  the  Grandlieus.  To  give  up 
Sabine,  to  whom  Mademoiselle  des  Touches  had  given  her 
fortune,  meant  poverty  for  him. 

However,  Calyste,  mad  with  despair,  had  secretly  pro- 
cured a  passport,  and  begged  his  mother  to  forward  him  a 
considerable  sum.  While  waiting  for  the  money  to  reach 
him,  he  kept  watch  over  Beatrix,  himself  a  victim  to  the 
jealousy  of  a  Breton,  At  last,  nine  days  after  the  fateful 
communication  made  by  la  Palf^rine  to  Maxime  at  the  club, 
the  Baron,  to  whom  his  mother  had  sent  thirty  thousand 
francs,  flew  to  the  Rue  de  Courcelles,  determined  to  force  the 
blockade,  to  turn  out  la  Palferine,  and  to  leave  Paris  with  his 
idol  appeased. 

This  was  one  of  those  fearful  alternatives  when  a  woman 
who  has  preserved  a  fragment  of  self-respect  may  sink  for  ever 
into  the  depths  of  vice,  but  may,  on  the  other  hand,  return 
to  virtue.  Hitherto  Madame  de  Rochefide  had  regarded 
herself  as  a  virtuous  woman,  whose  heart  had  been  invaded 
by  two  passions ;  but  to  love  Charles-Edouard,  and  allow  her- 
self to  be  loved  by  Calyste,  would  wreck  her  self-esteem  ;  for 
where  falsehood  begins,  infamy  begins.  She  had  granted 
rights  to  Calyste,  and  no  human  power  could  hinder  the 
Breton  from  throwing  himself  at  her  feet  and  watering  them 
with  the  tears  of  abject  repentance.  Many  persons  wonder  to 
see  the  icy  insensibility  under  which  women  smother  their 
passions;  but  if  they  could  not  thus  blot  out  the  past,  life 
for  them  would  be  bereft  of  dignity  ;  they  could  never  escape 
from  the  inevitable  collusion  to  which  they  had  once  suc- 
cumbed, 


BEATRIX.  351 

In  her  entirely  new  position  Beatrix  would  have  been  saved 
if  la  Palferine  had  come  to  her ;  but  old  Antoine's  alertness 
was  her  ruin. 

On  hearing  a  carriage  stop  at  the  door,  she  exclaimed  to 
Calyste,  "Here  are  visitors!"  and  she  hurried  away  to 
prevent  a  castastrophe. 

Antoine,  a  prudent  man,  replied  to  Charles-Edouard,  who 
had  called  solely  to  hear  these  very  words,  "  Madame  is  gone 
out." 

When  Beatrix  heard  from  the  old  servant  that  the  young 
Count  had  called,  and  what  he  had  been  told,  she  said, 
"Quite  right,"  and  returned  to  the  drawing-room,  saying  to 
herself,  "  I  will  be  a  nun  !  " 

Calyste,  who  had  made  so  bold  as  to  open  the  window, 
caught  sight  of  his  rival. 

"  Who  was  it  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  do  not  know ;  Antoine  has  not  come  up  yet." 

"  It  was  la  Palferine " 

"  Very  possibly." 

"You  love  him,  and  that  is  why  you  find  fault  with  me. 
I  saw  him  !  " 

"You  saw  him?" 

"I  opened  the  window." 

Beatrix  dropped  half-dead  on  the  sofa.  Then  she  tried  to 
temporize  to  save  the  future ;  she  put  off  their  departure  for 
ten  days  on  the  plea  of  business,  and  vowed  to  herself  that 
she  would  close  her  door  against  Calyste  if  only  she  could 
pacify  la  Palferine,  for  these  are  the  terrible  consequences, 
the  horrible  compromises  and  burning  torments  that  underlie 
lives  that  have  gone  off  the  rails  on  which  the  great  train  of 
society  runs. 

As  soon  as  Beatrix  was  alone  she  felt  so  miserable,  so  deeply 
humiliated,  that  she  went  to  bed;  she  was  ill;  that  fearful 
struggle  that  rent  her  heart  seemed  to  leave  a  horrible  reac- 
tion, and  she  sent  for  the  doctor ;  but  at  the  same  tim?  she 


352  BEATRIX. 

dispatched  to  la  Palferine  the  following  note,  in  which  she 
avenged  herself  on  Calyste  with  a  sort  of  frenzy : 

"  Come  to  see  me,  my  friend,  I  am  in  desperation.  An- 
toine  turned  you  away  when  your  visit  would  have  put  an  end 
to  one  of  the  most  horrible  nightmares  of  my  life  by  rescuing 
me  from  a  man  I  hate,  whom  I  hope  never  to  see  again.  I 
love  no  one  on  earth  but  you,  and  I  never  shall  love  any  one 
but  you,  though  I  am  so  unhappy  as  not  to  please  you  so  much 
as  I  could  wish " 

She  covered  four  pages,  which,  having  begun  thus,  ended 
in  a  rhapsody,  far  too  poetical  to  be  reproduced  in  print,  in 
which  Beatrix  so  effectually  compromised  herself  that  in  con- 
clusion she  said — 

"Am  I  not  wholly  at  your  mercy?  Ah,  no  price  would  be 
too  great  for  me  to  prove  how  dearly  you  are  loved  ! ' ' 

And  she  signed  her  name,  a  thing  she  had  never  done  for 
either  Calyste  or  Conti. 

On  the  following  day,  when  the  young  Count  called  on  the 
Marquise,  she  was  taking  a  bath.  Antoine  begged  him  to 
wait.  But  he  dismissed  Calyste  in  his  turn,  when,  starving  with 
passion,  he  also  came  early ;  and  la  Palferine  could  see  him  as 
he  got  into  his  carriage  again  in  despair. 

"Oh,  Charles,"  said  the  Marquise,  coming  into  the  draw- 
ing-room, "  you  have  ruined  me  !  " 

**I  know  it,  madame,"  replied  he  coolly.  "You  swore 
that  you  loved  me  alone,  you  offered  to  give  me  a  letter  in 
which  you  will  set  down  the  reasons  you  would  have  had  for 
killing  yourself,  so  that  in  the  event  of  your  being  unfaithful 
to  me  I  might  poison  you  without  fear  of  human  justice — as  if 
superior  souls  needed  to  resort  to  poison  to  avenge  themselves  ! 
You  wrote,  *  No  price  would  be  too  great  for  me  to  prove  how 
dearly  you  are  loved  ! '  Well,  I  find  a  contradiction  between 
these  closing  words  of  your  letter  and  your  speech,  '  You  have 


BEATRIX.  353 

ruined  me.'  I  will  know  now  whether  you  have  had  the 
courage  to  break  with  du  Guenic." 

'•  You  are  revenged  on  him  beforehand,"  said  she,  throw- 
ing her  arras  round  his  neck.  "And  that  matter  is  enough 
to  bind  you  and  me  for  ever " 

"  Madame,"  said  the  Prince  of  bohemia  coldly,  "  if  you 
desire  my  friendship,  I  consent ;  but  there  are  condi- 
tions  " 

"Conditions?" 

"Yes,  conditions — as  follows:  You  must  be  reconciled  with 
Monsieur  de  Rochefide,  resume  the  honors  of  your  position, 
return  to  your  fine  house  in  the  Rue  d' Anjou — you  will  be  one 
of  the  queens  of  Paris.  You  can  achieve  this  by  making 
Rochefide  play  a  part  in  politics  and  guiding  your  conduct 
with  such  skill  and  tenacity  as  Madame  d'Espard  has  dis- 
played. This  is  the  position  which  any  woman  must  fill  whom 
I  am  to  honor  with  my  devotion " 

"  But  you  forget  that  Monsieur  de  Rochefide's  consent  is 
necessary." 

"  Oh,  my  dear  child,"  replied  la  Palferine,  "we  have  pre- 
pared him  for  it.  I  have  pledged  my  honor  as  a  gentleman 
that  you  were  worth  all  the  Schontzes  of  the  Quartier  Saint- 
Georges  put  together,  and  you  owe  it  to  my  honor " 

For  eight  days,  every  day,  Calyste  called  on  Beatrix  and 
was  invariably  sent  away  by  Antoine,  who  put  on  a  grave  face 
and  assured  him,  "  Madame  la  Marquise  is  seriously  ill." 

From  thence  Calyste  rushed  off  to  la  Palferine,  whose  ser- 
vant always  explained,  "  Monsieur  le  Comte  is  gone  hunting." 
And  each  time  Calyste  left  a  letter  for  the  Count. 

At  last,  on  the  ninth  day,  Calyste,  in  reply  to  a  note  from 
la  Palferine  fixing  a  time  for  an  explanation,  found  him  at 
home,  but  with  him  Maxime  de  Trailles,  to  whom  the  younger 
rake  wished,  no  doubt,  to  give  proof  of  his  abilities  by  getting 
him  to  witness  the  scene. 
23 


854  BEATRIX. 

"  Monsieur  le  Baron,"  said  Charles-^douard  quietly,  "  here 
are  the  six  notes  you  have  done  me  the  honor  of  writing  me. 
They  are  unopened,  just  as  you  sent  them  \  I  knew  beforehand 
what  might  be  in  them  when  I  heard  that  you  had  been  seek- 
ing me  everywhere  since  the  day  when  I  looked  at  you  out  of 
the  window,  while  you  were  at  the  door  of  a  house  where, 
on  the  previous  day,  I  had  been  at  the  door  while  you  were 
at  the  window.  I  thought  it  best  to  remain  ignorant  of  an 
ill-judged  challenge.  Between  you  and  me,  you  have  too 
much  good  taste  to  owe  a  woman  a  grudge  because  she  has 
ceased  to  love  you.  And  to  fight  your  preferred  rival  is  a 
bad  way  to  reinstate  yourself. 

"Also,  in  the  present  case,  your  letters  were  invalidated, 
null,  and  void,  as  lawyers  say,  in  consequence  of  a  radical 
error  :  you  have  too  much  good  sense  to  quarrel  with  a  hus- 
band for  taking  back  his  wife.  Monsieur  de  Rochefide  feels 
that  the  Marquise's  position  is  undignified.  You  will  no 
longer  find  Madame  de  Rochefide  in  the  Rue  de  Courcelles ; 
six  months  hence,  next  winter,  you  will  see  her  in  her  hus- 
band's home.  You  very  rashly  thrust  yourself  into  the  midst 
of  a  reconciliation  between  a  married  couple,  to  which  you 
yourself  gave  rise  by  failing  to  shelter  Madame  de  Rochefide 
from  the  mortification  she  endured  at  the  opera-house.  As 
we  left,  Beatrix,  to  whom  I  had  already  brought  some  friendly 
advances  on  her  husband's  part,  took  me  in  her  carriage,  and 
her  first  words  were,  *  Go  and  bring  Arthur  ! '  " 

"Oh,  heavens!"  cried  Calyste,  "she  was  right;  I  had 
failed  in  my  devotion " 

"  But,  unfortunately,  monsieur,  poor  Arthur  was  living  with 
one  of  those  dreadful  women — that  Madame  Schontz,  who  for 
a  long  time  had  expected  every  hour  to  find  herself  deserted. 
Madame  Schontz,  who,  on  the  strength  of  Beatrix's  complex- 
ion, cherished  a  desire  to  see  herself  some  day  the  Marquise 
de  Rochefide,  was  furious  when  she  saw  her  castles  in  the  air 
fallen.     Those  women,  monsieur,  will  lose  an  eye  if  they  can 


BEATRIX.  355 

spoil  two  for  an  enemy;  la  Schontz,  who  has  just  left  Paris, 
has  been  the  instrument  of  spoiling  six  !  And  if  I  had  been 
so  rash  as  to  love  Beatrix,  the  sum-total  would  have  been 
eight.  You,  monsieur,  must  have  discovered  that  you  need 
an  oculist." 

Maxime  could  not  help  smiling  at  the  change  in  Calyste's 
face ;  he  turned  pale  as  his  eyes  were  opened  to  the  situation. 

"  Would  you  believe,  Monsieur  le  Baron,  that  that  wretched 
woman  has  consented  to  marry  the  man  who  furnished  her 
with  means  of  revenge  ?  Oh  !  women  !  You  understand  now 
why  Beatrix  should  shut  herself  up  with  Arthur  for  a  few 
months  at  Nogent-sur-Marne,  where  they  have  a  charming 
little  house  ;  they  will  recover  their  sight  there.  Meanwhile 
their  house  will  be  entirely  redecorated  j  the  Marquise  means 
to  display  a  princely  style  of  splendor.  When  a  man  is  sin- 
cerely in  love  with  so  noble  a  woman,  so  great,  so  exquisite, 
the  victim  of  conjugal  devotion,  as  soon  as  she  has  the  courage 
to  return  to  her  duties  as  a  wife,  the  part  of  those  who  adore 
her  as  you  do,  who  admire  her  as  I  do,  is  to  remain  her  friends 
when  they  can  be  nothing  more. 

"You  will  forgive  me  for  having  thought  it  well  to  invite 
Monsieur  de  Trailles  to  be  present  at  this  explanation,  but  I 
was  particularly  anxious  to  make  this  all  perfectly  clear.  For 
my  part,  I  especially  wished  to  assure  you  that,  though  I  ad- 
mire Madame  de  Rochefide's  cleverness  as  a  woman,  she  is  to 
me  supremely  odious." 

"  And  that  is  what  our  fairest  dreams,  our  celestial  loves  end 
in  !"  said  Calyste,  overwhelmed  by  so  many  revelations  and 
disenchantments. 

*'  In  a  fish's  tail,"  cried  Maxime,  "  or,  which  is  worse,  in 
an  apothecary's  gallipot !  I  have  never  known  a  first  love 
that  did  not  end  idiotically.  Ah,  Monsieur  le  Baron,  what- 
ever there  may  be  that  is  heavenly  in  man  finds  its  nourish- 
ment in  heaven  alone  !  This  is  the  excuse  for  us  rakes.  I, 
monsieur,  have  gone  deeply  into  the  question,  and,  as  you  see. 


366  BEATRIX. 

I  am  just  married.  I  shall  be  faithful  to  my  wife,  and  I 
would  urge  you  to  return  to  Madame  du  Guenic — but — three 
months  hence. 

"Do  not  regret  Beatrix;  she  is  a  pattern  of  those  vain 
natures,  devoid  of  energy,  but  flirts  out  of  vainglory — a 
Madame  d'Espard  without  political  faculty,  a  woman  devoid 
of  heart  and  brain,  frivolous  in  wickedness.  Madame  de 
Rochefide  loves  no  one  but  Madame  de  Rochefide  ;  she  would 
have  involved  you  in  an  irremediable  quarrel  with  Madame  du 
Guenic,  and  then  have  thrown  you  over  without  a  qualm  ;  in 
fact,  she  is  as  inadequate  for  vice  as  for  virtue. ' ' 

"I  do  not  agree  with  you,  Maxime,"  said  la  Palferine ; 
"  she  will  be  the  most  delightful  mistress  of  a  great  house  in 
all  Paris." 

Calyste  did  not  leave  the  house  without  shaking  hands  with 
Charles-Edouard  and  Maxime  de  Trailles,  thanking  them  for 
having  cured  him  of  his  illusions. 

Three  days  later  the  Duchesse  de  Grandlieu,  who  had  not 
seen  her  daughter  Sabine  since  the  morning  of  the  great  con- 
ference, called  one  morning  and  found  Calyste  in  his  bath- 
room. Sabine  was  sewing  at  some  new  finery  for  her  baby- 
clothes. 

"  Well,  how  are  you  children  getting  on  ?  "  asked  the  kind 
Duchess. 

"  As  well  as  possible,  dear  mamma,"  replied  Sabine,  look- 
ing at  her  mother  with  eyes  bright  with  happiness.  "We 
have  acted  out  the  fable  of  the  Two  Pigeons — that  is  all," 

Calyste  held  out  his  hand  to  his  wife  and  pressed  hers  ten- 
derly. 

1 838-1 844. 


THE  PURSE. 

Tnuislatcd   by   Claxa    Bbll. 

To  Sofka. 

*^ Have  you  observed,  mademoiselle,  that  the  painters 
and  sculptors  of  the  Middle  Ages,  when  they  placed 
two  figures  in  adoration,  one  on  each  side  of  a  fair 
Saint,  never  failed  to  give  them  a  family  likeness  ? 
When  you  here  see  your  name  among  those  that  are 
dear  to  me,  and  under  uOwse  auspices  I  place  my 
works,  remember  that  touching  harmony,  and  you  will 
see  in  this  not  so  much  an  act  of  homage  as  an  expres- 
sion of  the  brotherly  affection  of  your  devoted  servant, 

"De  Balzac." 

For  souls  to  whom  effusiveness  is  easy  there  is  a  delicious 
hour  that  falls  when  it  is  not  yet  night,  but  is  no  longer  day ; 
the  twilight  gleam  throws  softened  lights  or  tricksy  reflections 
on  every  object,  and  favors  a  dreamy  mood  which  vaguely 
weds  itself  to  the  play  of  light  and  shade.  The  silence  which 
generally  prevails  at  that  time  makes  it  particularly  dear  to 
artists,  who  grow  contemplative,  stand  a  few  paces  back  from 
the  pictures  on  which  they  can  no  longer  work,  and  pass 
judgment  on  them,  rapt  by  the  subject  whose  most  recondite 
meaning  then  flashes  on  the  inner  eye  of  genius.  He  who 
has  never  stood  pensive  by  a  friend's  side  in  such  an  hour  of 
poetic  dreaming  can  hardly  understand  its  inexpressible  sooth- 
ingness.  Favored  by  the  clear-obscure,  the  material  skill 
employed  by  art  to  produce  illusion  entirely  disappears.  If 
the  work  is  a  picture,  the  figures  represented  seem  to  speak 
and  walk;  the  shade  is  shadow,  the  light  is  day;  the  flesh 

(357) 


358  THE  PURSE. 

lives,  eyes  move,  blood  flows  in  their  veins,  and  stuffs  have 
a  changing  sheen.  Imagination  helps  the  realism  of  every 
detail,  and  only  sees  the  beauties  of  the  work.  At  that  hour 
illusion  reigns  despotically ;  perhaps  it  awakes  at  nightfall ! 
Is  not  illusion  a  sort  of  night  to  the  mind,  which  we  people 
with  dreams?  Illusion  then  unfolds  its  wings,  it  bears  the 
soul  aloft  to  the  world  of  fancies,  a  world  full  of  voluptuous 
imaginings,  where  the  artist  forgets  the  real  world,  yesterday 
and  the  morrow,  the  future — everything  down  to  its  miseries, 
the  good  and  the  evil  alike. 

At  this  magic  hour  a  young  painter,  a  man  of  talent,  who 
saw  in  art  nothing  but  Art  itself,  was  perched  on  a  step-ladder 
which  helped  him  to  work  at  a  large,  high  painting,  now 
nearly  finished.  Criticising  himself,  honestly  admiring  him- 
self, floating  on  the  current  of  his  thoughts,  he  then  lost 
himself  in  one  of  those  meditative  moods  which  ravish  and 
elevate  the  soul,  soothe  it,  and  comfort  it.  His  reverie  had 
no  doubt  lasted  a  long  time.  Night  fell.  Whether  he  meant 
to  come  down  from  his  perch,  or  whether  he  made  some  ill- 
judged  movement,  believing  himself  to  be  on  the  floor — the 
event  did  not  allow  of  his  remembering  exactly  the  cause  of 
his  accident — he  fell,  his  head  struck  a  footstool,  he  lost  con- 
sciousness and  lay  motionless  during  a  space  of  time  of  which 
he  knew  not  the  length. 

A  sweet  voice  aroused  him  from  the  stunned  condition  into 
which  he  had  sunk.  When  he  opened  his  eyes  the  flash  of  a 
bright  light  made  him  close  them  again  immediately ;  but 
through  the  mist  that  veiled  his  senses  he  heard  the  whisper- 
ing of  two  women,  and  felt  two  young,  two  timid  hands  on 
which  his  head  was  resting.  He  soon  recovered  conscious- 
ness, and  by  the  light  of  an  old-fashioned  argand  lamp  he 
could  make  out  the  most  charming  girl's  face  he  had  ever 
seen,  one  of  those  heads  which  are  often  supposed  to  be  a 
freak  of  the  brush,  but  which  to  him  suddenly  realized  the 
theories  of  the  ideal  beauty  which  every  artist  creates  for  him- 


THE  PURSE.  359 

self,  and  whence  his  art  proceeds.  The  features  of  the  un- 
known belonged,  so  to  say,  to  the  refined  and  delicate  type 
of  Prudhon's  school,  but  had  also  the  poetic  sentiment  which 
Girodet  gave  to  the  inventions  of  his  phantasy.  The  fresh- 
ness of  the  temples,  the  regular  arch  of  the  eyebrows,  the 
purity  of  outline,  the  virginal  innocence  so  plainly  stamped 
on  every  feature  of  her  countenance,  made  the  girl  a  perfect 
creature.  Her  figure  was  slight  and  graceful,  and  frail  in 
form.  Her  dress,  though  simple  and  neat,  revealed  neither 
wealth  nor  penury. 

As  he  recovered  his  senses,  the  painter  gave  expression  to 
his  admiration  by  a  look  of  surprise,  and  stammered  some 
confused  thanks.  He  found  a  handkerchief  pressed  to  his 
forehead,  and  above  the  smell  peculiar  to  a  studio,  he 
recognized  the  strong  odor  of  ether,  applied  no  doubt  to 
revive  him  from  his  fainting  fit.  Finally  he  saw  an  old 
woman,  looking  like  a  marquise  of  the  old  school,  who  held 
the  lamp  and  was  advising  the  young  girl. 

"Monsieur,"  said  the  younger  woman  in  reply  to  one  of 
the  questions  put  by  the  painter  during  the  few  minutes  when 
he  was  still  under  the  influence  of  the  vagueness  that  the 
shock  had  produced  in  his  ideas,  "  my  mother  and  I  heard 
the  noise  of  your  fall  on  the  floor,  and  we  fancied  we  heard 
a  groan.  The  silence  following  on  the  crash  alarmed  us, 
and  we  hurried  up.  Finding  the  key  in  the  latch,  we  happily 
took  the  liberty  of  entering,  and  we  found  you  lying  motion- 
less on  the  ground.  My  mother  went  to  fetch  what  was 
needed  to  bathe  your  head  and  revive  you.  You  have  cut 
your  forehead — there.     Do  you  feel  it?" 

"Yes,  I  do  now,"  he  replied. 

"Oh,  it  will  be  nothing,"  said  the  old  mother.  "Hap- 
pily your  head  rested  against  this  lay-figure." 

"I  feel  infinitely  better,"  replied  the  painter.  "I  need 
nothing  further  but  a  hackney  cab  to  take  me  home.  The 
porter's  wife  will  go  for  one." 


360  THE  PURSE. 

He  tried  to  repeat  his  thanks  to  the  two  strangers ;  but  at 
each  sentence  the  elder  lady  interrupted  him,  saying,  "  To- 
morrow, monsieur,  pray  be  careful  to  put  on  leeches  or  to  be 
bled,  and  drink  a  few  cups  of  something  healing.  A  fall  may 
be  dangerous." 

The  young  girl  stole  a  look  at  the  painter  and  at  the 
pictures  in  the  studio.  Her  expression  and  her  glances 
revealed  perfect  propriety ;  her  curiosity  seemed  rather  ab- 
sence of  mind,  and  her  eyes  seemed  to  speak  the  interest 
which  women  feel,  with  the  most  engaging  spontaneity,  in 
everything  which  causes  us  suffering.  The  two  strangers 
seemed  to  forget  the  painter's  works  in  the  painter's  mis- 
hap. When  he  had  reassured  them  as  to  his  condition 
they  left,  looking  at  him  with  an  anxiety  that  was  equally 
free  from  insistence  and  from  familiarity,  without  asking 
any  indiscreet  questions,  or  trying  to  incite  him  to  any 
wish  to  visit  them.  Their  proceedings  all  bore  the  hall- 
mark of  natural  refinement  and  good  taste.  Their  noble 
and  simple  manners  at  first  made  no  great  impression  on 
the  painter,  but  subsequently,  as  he  recalled  all  the  details 
of  the  incident,  he  was  greatly  struck  by  them. 

When  they  reached  the  floor  beneath  that  occupied  as 
the  painter's  studio,  the  old  lady  gently  observed,  ''Ade- 
laide, you  left  the  door  open." 

"That  was  to  come  to  my  assistance,"  said  the  painter, 
with  a  grateful  smile. 

"You  came  down  just  now,  mother,"  replied  the  young 
girl,  with  a  blush. 

**  Would  you  like  us  to  accompany  you  all  the  way  down 
stairs?"  asked  the  mother.     "The  stairs  are  dark." 

"No,  thank  you,  indeed,  madame;  I  am  much  better." 

"Hold  tightly  by  the  rail." 

The  two  women  remained  on  the  landing  to  light  the 
young  man,  listening  to  the  sound  of  his  steps  as  he  de- 
scended the  stairs. 


THE  PURSE.  361 

In  order  to  set  forth  clearly  all  the  exciting  and  unex- 
pected interest  this  scene  might  have  for  the  young  painter, 
it  must  be  told  that  he  had  only  a  few  days  since  estab- 
lished his  studio  in  the  attics  of  this  house,  situated  in  the 
darkest  and,  therefore,  the  mo/t  muddy  part  of  the  Rue  de 
Suresnes,  almost  opposite  the  church  of  the  Madeleine,  and 
quite  close  to  his  rooms  in  the  Rue  des  Champs-Elys6es. 
The  fame  his  talent  had  won  him  having  made  him  one  of 
the  artists  most  dear  to  his  country,  he  was  beginning  to 
feel  free  from  want,  and,  to  use  his  own  expression,  was 
enjoying  his  last  privations.  Instead  of  going  to  his  work 
in  one  of  the  studios  near  the  city  gates,  where  the  mod- 
erate rents  had  hitherto  been  in  proportion  to  his  humble 
earnings,  he  had  gratified  a  wish  that  was  new  every  morning, 
by  sparing  himself  a  long  walk,  and  the  loss  of  much  time, 
now  more  valuable  than  ever. 

No  man  in  the  world  would  have  inspired  feelings  of  a 
greater  interest  than  Hippolyte  Schinner  if  he  would  ever 
have  consented  to  make  acquaintance ;  but  he  did  not  lightly 
intrust  to  others  the  secrets  of  his  life.  He  was  the  idol 
of  a  necessitous  mother,  who  had  brought  him  up  at  the 
cost  of  the  severest  privations.  Mademoiselle  Schinner,  the 
daugliter  of  an  Alsatian  farmer,  had  never  been  married.  Her 
tender  soul  had  been  cruelly  crushed,  long  ago,  by  a  rich 
man,  who  did  not  pride  himself  on  any  great  delicacy  in  his 
love  affairs.  The  day  when,  as  a  young  girl,  in  all  the  radi- 
ance of  her  beauty  and  all  the  triumph  of  her  life,  she  suffered, 
at  the  cost  of  her  heart  and  her  sweet  illusions,  the  disen- 
chantment which  falls  on  us  so  slowly  and  yet  so  quickly — 
for  we  try  to  postpone  as  long  as  possible  our  belief  in  evil, 
and  it  seems  to  come  too  soon — that  day  was  a  whole  age  of 
reflection,  and  it  was  also  a  day  of  religious  thought  and 
resignation.  She  refused  the  alms  of  the  man  who  had  be- 
trayed her,  renounced  the  world,  and  made  a  glory  of  her 
shame.     She  gave  herself  up  entirely  to  her  motherly  love, 


362  THE  PURSE, 

seeking  in  it  all  her  joys  in  exchange  for  the  social  pleasures 
to  which  she  bid  farewell.  She  lived  by  work,  saving  up  a 
treasure  in  her  son.  And,  in  after  years,  a  day,  an  hour, 
repaid  her  amply  for  the  long  and  weary  sacrifices  of  her 
indigence. 

At  the  last  exhibition  her  son  had  received  the  Cross  of  the 
Legion  of  Honor.  The  newspapers,  unanimous  in  hailing  an 
unknown  genius,  still  rang  with  sincere  praises.  Artists 
themselves  acknowledged  Schinner  as  a  master,  and  dealers 
covered  his  canvasses  with  gold-pieces.  At  five-and-twenty 
Hippolyte  Schinner,  to  whom  his  mother  had  transmitted  her 
woman's  soul,  understood  more  clearly  than  ever  his  position 
in  the  world.  Anxious  to  restore  to  his  mother  the  pleasures 
of  which  society  had  so  long  robbed  her,  he  lived  for  her, 
hoping  by  the  aid  of  fame  and  fortune  to  see  her  one  day 
happy,  rich,  respected,  and  surrounded  by  men  of  mark. 
Schinner  had  therefore  chosen  his  friends  among  the  most 
honorable  and  distinguished  men.  Fastidious  in  the  selection 
of  his  intimates,  he  desired  to  raise  still  further  a  position 
which  his  talent  had  placed  high.  The  work  to  which  he  had 
devoted  himself  from  boyhood,  by  compelling  him  to  dwell 
in  solitude — the  mother  of  great  thoughts — had  left  him  the 
beautiful  beliefs  which  grace  the  early  days  of  life.  His 
adolescent  soul  was  not  closed  to  any  of  the  thousand  bashful 
emotions  by  which  a  young  man  is  a  being  apart,  whose  heart 
abounds  in  joys,  in  poetry,  in  virginal  hopes,  puerile  in  the 
eyes  of  men  of  the  world,  but  deep  because  they  are  single- 
hearted. 

He  was  endowed  with  the  gentle  and  polite  manners  which 
speak  to  the  soul,  and  fascinate  even  those  who  do  not  under- 
stand them.  He  was  well-made.  His  voice,  coming  from 
his  heart,  stirred  that  of  others  to  noble  sentiments,  and  bore 
witness  to  his  true  modesty  by  a  certain  ingenuousness  of 
tone.  Those  who  saw  him  felt  drawn  to  him  by  that  attrac- 
tion of  the  moral  nature  which  men  of  science  are  happily 


THE  PURSE.  363 

unable  to  analyze  \  they  would  detect  in  it  some  phenomenon 
of  galvanism,  or  the  current  of  I  know  not  what  fluid,  and 
express  our  sentiments  in  a  formula  of  ratios  of  oxygen  and 
electricity. 

These  details  will  perhaps  explain  to  strong-minded  persons 
and  to  men  of  fashion  why,  in  the  absence  of  the  porter  whom 
he  had  sent  to  the  end  of  the  Rue  de  la  Madeleine  to  call  him 
a  coach,  Hippolyte  Schinner  did  not  ask  the  man's  wife  any 
questions  concerning  the  two  women  whose  kindness  of  heart 
had  shown  itself  in  his  behalf.  But  though  he  replied  Yes  or 
No  to  the  inquiries,  natural  under  the  circumstances,  which 
the  good  woman  made  as  to  his  accident,  and  the  friendly 
intervention  of  the  tenants  occupying  the  fourth  floor,  he 
could  not  hinder  her  from  following  the  instinct  of  her 
kind ;  she  mentioned  the  two  strangers,  speaking  of  them  as 
prompted  by  the  interests  of  her  policy  and  the  subterranean 
opinions  of  the  porter's  lodge. 

"Ah,"  said  she,  "they  were,  no  doubt,  Mademoiselle 
Leseigneur  and  her  mother,  who  have  lived  here  these  four 
years.  We  do  not  yet  know  exactly  what  these  ladies  do; 
in  the  morning,  only  till  the  hour  of  noon,  an  old  woman  who 
is  half  deaf,  and  who  never  speaks  any  more  than  a  wall,  comes 
in  to  help  them ;  in  the  evening,  two  or  three  old  gentlemen, 
with  loops  of  ribbon,  like  you,  monsieur,  come  to  see  them, 
and  often  stay  very  late.  One  of  them  comes  in  a  carriage 
with  servants,  and  is  said  to  have  sixty  thousand  francs  a  year. 
However,  they  are  very  quiet  tenants,  as  you  are,  monsieur ; 
and  economical!  they  live  on  nothing,  and  as  soon  as  a  letter 
is  brought  they  pay  for  it.  It  is  a  queer  thing,  monsieur,  the 
mother's  name  is  not  the  same  as  the  daughter's.  Ah,  but 
when  they  go  for  a  walk  in  the  Tuileries,  mademoiselle  is  very 
smart,  and  she  never  goes  out  but  she  is  followed  by  a  lot  of 
young  men  ;  but  she  shuts  the  door  in  their  faces,  and  she  is 
quite  right.     The  proprietor  would  never  allow " 

The  coach  having  come,  Hippolyte  heard  no  more,  and 


364  THE  PURSE. 

went  home.  His  mother,  to  whom  he  related  his  adventure, 
dressed  his  wound  afresh,  and  would  not  allow  him  to  go  to 
the  studio  next  day.  After  taking  advice,  various  treatments 
were  prescribed,  and  Hippolyte  remained  at  home  three  days. 
During  this  retirement  his  idle  fancy  recalled  vividly,  bit  by 
bit,  the  details  of  the  scene  that  had  ensued  on  his  fainting  fit. 
The  young  girl's  profile  was  clearly  projected  against  the  dark- 
ness of  his  inward  vision ;  he  saw  once  more  the  mother's 
faded  features,  or  he  felt  the  touch  of  Adelaide's  hands.  He 
remembered  some  gesture  which  at  first  had  not  greatly  struck 
him,  but  whose  exquisite  grace  was  thrown  into  relief  by 
memory ;  then  an  attitude,  or  the  tones  of  a  melodious  voice, 
enhanced  by  the  distance  of  remembrance,  suddenly  rose  be- 
fore him,  as  objects  plunging  to  the  bottom  of  deep  waters 
come  back  to  the  surface. 

So,  on  the  day  when  he  could  resume  work,  he  went  early 
to  his  studio ;  but  the  visit  he  undoubtedly  had  a  right  to  pay 
to  his  neighbors  was  the  true  cause  of  his  haste ;  he  had  already 
forgotten  the  pictures  he  had  begun.  At  the  moment  when  a 
passion  throws  off  its  swaddling  clothes,  inexplicable  pleasures 
are  felt,  known  to  those  who  have  loved.  So  some  readers 
will  understand  why  the  painter  mounted  the  stairs  to  the 
fourth  floor  but  slowly,  and  will  be  in  the  secret  of  the  throbs 
that  followed  each  other  so  rapidly  in  his  heart  at  the  moment 
when  he  saw  the  humble  brown  door  of  the  rooms  inhabited  by 
Mademoiselle  Leseigneur.  This  girl,  whose  name  was  not  the 
same  as  her  mother's,  had  aroused  the  young  painter's  deepest 
sympathies ;  he  chose  to  fancy  some  similarity  between  him- 
self and  her  as  to  their  position,  and  attributed  to  her  misfor- 
tunes of  birth  akin  to  his  own.  All  the  time  he  worked  Hip- 
polyte gave  himself  very  willingly  to  thoughts  of  love,  and 
made  a  great  deal  of  noise  to  compel  the  two  ladies  to  think 
of  him  as  he  was  thinking  of  them.  He  stayed  late  at  the 
studio  and  dined  there;  then,  at  about  seven  o'clock,  he  went 
down  to  fcall  on  his  neighbors. 


THE  PURSE.  365 

No  painter  of  manners  has  ventured  to  initiate  us — perhaps 
out  of  modesty — into  the  really  curious  privacy  of  certain 
Parisian  existences,  into  the  secret  of  the  dwellings  whence 
emerge  such  fresh  and  elegant  toilets,  such  brilliant  women, 
who,  rich  on  the  surface,  allow  the  signs  of  very  doubtful 
comfort  to  peep  out  in  every  part  of  their  home.  If,  here,  the 
picture  is  too  boldly  drawn,  if  you  find  it  tedious  in  places,  do 
not  blame  the  description,  which  is,  indeed,  part  and  parcel 
of  my  story ;  for  the  appearance  of  the  rooms  inhabited  by  his 
two  neighbors  had  a  great  influence  on  the  feelings  and  hopes 
of  Hippolyte  Schinner. 

The  house  belonged  to  one  of  those  proprietors  in  whom 
there  is  a  foregone  and  profound  horror  of  repairs  and  decora- 
tion, one  of  the  men  who  regard  their  position  as  Paris  house- 
owners  as  a  business.  In  the  vast  chain  of  moral  species, 
these  people  hold  a  middle  place  between  the  miser  and  the 
usurer.  Optimists  in  their  own  interests,  they  are  all  faithful 
to  the  Austrian  status  quo.  If  you  speak  of  moving  a  cup- 
board or  a  door,  of  opening  the  most  indispensable  air-hole, 
their  eyes  flash,  their  bile  rises,  they  rear  like  a  frightened 
horse.  When  the  wind  blows  down  a  few  chimney-pots  they 
are  quite  ill,  and  deprive  themselves  of  an  evening  at  the 
Gymnase  or  the  Porte-Saint-Martin  Theatre,  "on  account  of 
repairs."  Hippolyte,  who  had  seen  the  performance  gratis 
of  a  comical  scene  with  Monsieur  Molineux,  as  concerning 
certain  decorative  repairs  in  his  studio,  was  not  surprised  to 
see  the  dark,  greasy  paint,  the  oily  stains,  spots,  and  other 
disagreeable  accessories  that  varied  the  woodwork.  And 
these  stigmata  of  poverty  are  not  altogether  devoid  of  poetry 
in  an  artist's  eyes. 

Mademoiselle  Leseigneur  herself  opened  the  door.  On 
recognizing  the  young  artist  she  bowed,  and  at  the  same  time, 
with  Parisian  adroitness  and  with  the  presence  of  mind  that 
pride  can  lend,  turned  round  to  shut  a  door  in  a  glass  par- 
tition through  which  Hippolyte  might  have  caught  sight  of 


366  THE  PURSE. 

some  linen  hung  by  lines  over  patent  ironing  stoves,  an  old 
camp-bed,  some  wood-embers,  charcoal,  irons,  a  filter,  the 
household  crockery,  and  all  the  utensils  familiar  to  a  small 
household.  India-muslin  curtains,  fairly  white,  carefully 
screened  this  lumber-room — a  capharnaum,  as  the  French 
call  such  a  domestic  laboratory — which  was  lighted  by  win- 
dows looking  out  on  a  neighboring  yard. 

Hippolyte,  with  the  quick  eye  of  an  artist,  saw  the  uses, 
the  furniture,  the  general  effect  and  condition  of  this  first 
room,  thus  cut  in  half.  The  more  honorable  half,  which 
served  both  as  anteroom  and  dining-room,  was  hung  with  an 
old  salmon-rose-colored  paper,  with  a  flock  border,  the  manu- 
facture of  Reveillon,  no  doubt ;  the  holes  and  spots  had  been 
carefully  touched  over  with  wafers.  Prints  representing  the 
battles  of  Alexander,  by  Lebrun,  in  frames  with  the  gilding 
rubbed  off",  were  symmetrically  arranged  on  the  walls.  In 
the  middle  stood  a  massive  mahogany  table,  old-fashioned  in 
shape,  and  worn  at  the  edges.  A  small  stove,  whose  thin 
straight  pipe  was  scarcely  visible,  stood  in  front  of  the 
chimney-place,  but  the  hearth  was  occupied  by  a  cupboard. 
By  a  strange  contrast  the  chairs  showed  some  remains  of 
former  splendor ;  they  were  of  carved  mahogany,  but  the  red 
morocco  seats,  the  gilt  nails  and  reeded  backs,  showed  as 
many  scars  as  an  old  sergeant  of  the  Imperial  Guard. 

This  room  did  duty  as  a  museum  of  certain  objects,  such 
as  are  never  seen  but  in  this  kind  of  amphibious  household  \ 
nameless  objects  with  the  stamp  at  once  of  luxury  and  penury. 
Among  other  curiosities  Hippolyte  noticed  a  splendidly 
finished  telescope,  hanging  over  the  small  discolored  glass 
that  decorated  the  chimney.  To  harmonize  with  this  strange 
collection  of  furniture  there  was,  between  the  chimney  and 
the  partition,  a  wretched  sideboard  of  painted  wood,  pre- 
tending to  be  mahogany,  of  all  woods  the  most  impossible  to 
imitate.  But  the  slippery  red  quarries,  the  shabby  little  rugs 
in  front  of  the  chairs,  and  all  the  furniture  shone  with  the 


-THE  PURSE.  367 

hard-rubbing  cleanliness  which  lends  a  treacherous  lustre  to 
old  things  by  making  their  defects,  their  age,  and  their  long 
service  still  more  conspicuous.  An  indescribable  odor  per- 
vaded the  room,  a  mingled  smell  of  the  exhalations  from  the 
lumber-room  and  the  vapors  of  the  dining-room,  with  those 
from  the  stairs,  though  the  window  was  partly  open.  The  air 
from  the  street  fluttered  the  dusty  curtains,  which  were  care- 
fully drawn  so  as  to  hide  the  window-bay,  where  former 
tenants  had  testified  to  their  presence  by  various  ornamental 
additions — a  sort  of  domestic  fresco. 

Adelaide  hastened  to  open  the  door  of  the  inner  room, 
where  she  announced  the  painter  with  evident  pleasure.  Hip- 
polyte,  who,  of  yore,  had  seen  the  same  signs  of  poverty  in  his 
mother's  home,  noted  them  with  the  singular  vividness  of  im- 
pression which  characterizes  the  earliest  acquisitions  of  memory, 
and  entered  into  the  details  of  this  existence  better  than  any 
one  else  would  have  done.  As  he  recognized  the  facts  of  his 
life  as  a  child,  the  kind  young  fellow  felt  neither  scorn  for 
disguised  misfortune  nor  pride  in  the  luxury  he  had  lately 
conquered  for  his  mother. 

"  Well,  monsieur,  I  hope  you  no  longer  feel  the  effects  of 
your  fall,"  said  the  old  lady,  rising  from  an  antique  armchair 
that  stood  by  the  chimney,  and  offering  him  a  seat. 

*'  No,  madame.  I  have  come  to  thank  you  for  the  kind 
care  you  gave  me,  and  above  all  mademoiselle,  who  heard  me 
fall." 

As  he  uttered  this  speech,  stamped  with  the  exquisite  stu- 
pidity given  to  the  mind  by  the  first  disturbing  symptoms  of 
true  love,  Hippolyte  looked  at  the  young  girl.  Adelaide  was 
lighting  the  argand  lamp,  no  doubt,  that  she  might  get  rid  of 
a  tallow  candle  fixed  in  a  large,  flat,  copper  candlestick,  and 
graced  with  a  heavy  fluting  of  grease  from  its  guttering.  She 
answered  with  a  slight  bow,  carried  the  flat  candlestick  into 
the  anteroom,  came  back,  and,  after  placing  the  lamp  on  the 
mantel,  seated   herself  by  her  mother,  a   little   behind  the 


368  THE  PURSE. 

painter,  so  as  to  be  able  to  look  at  him  at  her  ease,  while 
apparently  much  interested  in  the  burning  of  the  lamp ;  the 
flame,  checked  by  the  damp  in  a  dingy  chimney,  sputtered  as 
it  struggled  with  a  charred  and  badly  trimmed  wick.  Hip- 
polyte,  seeing  the  large  mirror  that  decorated  the  mantel, 
immediately  fixed  his  eyes  on  it  to  admire  Adelaide.  Thus 
the  girl's  little  stratagem  only  served  to  embarrass  them  both. 

While  talking  with  Madame  Leseigneur,  for  Hippolyte, 
called  her  so,  on  the  chance  of  being  right,  he  examined  the 
room,  but  unobtrusively  and  by  stealth. 

The  Egyptian  figures  on  the  iron  fire-dogs  were  scarcely 
visible,  the  hearth  was  so  heaped  with  cinders;  two  brands 
tried  to  meet  in  front  of  a  sham  log  of  firebrick,  as  care- 
fully buried  as  a  miser's  treasure  could  ever  be.  An  old 
Aubusson  carpet,  very  much  faded,  very  much  mended,  and 
as  worn  as  a  pensioner's  coat,  did  not  cover  the  whole  of 
the  tiled  floor,  and  the  cold  struck  to  his  feet.  The  walls 
were  hung  with  a  reddish  paper,  imitating  figured  silk  with  a 
yellow  pattern.  In  the  middle  of  the  wall  opposite  the 
windows  the  painter  saw  a  crack,  and  the  outline  marked  on 
the  paper  of  double-doors,  shutting  off"  a  recess  where  Madame 
Leseigneur  slept  no  doubt,  a  fact  ill  disguised  by  a  sofa  in  front 
of  the  door.  Facing  the  chimney,  above  a  mahogany  chest 
of  drawers  of  handsome  and  tasteful  design,  was  the  portrait 
of  an  officer  of  rank,  which  the  dim  light  did  not  allow  him 
to  see  well ;  but  from  what  he  could  make  out  he  thought 
that  the  fearful  daub  must  have  been  painted  in  China.  The 
window-curtains  of  red  silk  were  as  much  faded  as  the  furni- 
ture, in  red  and  yellow  worsted  work,  if  this  room  "con- 
trived a  double  debt  to  pay."  On  the  marble  top  of  the 
chest  of  drawers  was  a  costly  malachite  tray,  with  a  dozen 
coffee  cups  magnificently  painted,  and  made,  no  doubt,  at 
Sevres.  On  the  chimney-shelf  stood  the  omnipresent  Empire 
clock:  a  warrior  driving  the  four  horses  of  a  chariot,  whose 
wheel  bore  the  numbers  of  the  hours  on  its  spokes.     The 


THE  PURSE.  869 

tapers  in  the  tall  candlesticks  were  yellow  with  smoke,  and 
at  each  corner  of  the  shelf  stood  a  porcelain  vase  crowned 
with  artificial  flowers  full  of  dust  and  stuck  into  moss. 

In  the  middle  of  the  room  Hippolyte  remarked  a  card-table 
ready  for  play,  with  new  packs  of  cards.  For  an  observer 
there  was  something  heartrending  in  the  sight  of  this  misery 
painted  up  like  an  old  woman  who  wants  to  falsify  her  face. 
At  such  a  sight  every  man  of  sense  must  at  once  have  stated 
to  himself  this  obvious  dilemma — either  these  two  women  are 
honesty  itself,  or  they  live  by  intrigue  and  gambling.  But 
on  looking  at  Adelaide,  a  man  so  pure-minded  as  Schinner 
could  not  but  believe  in  her  perfect  innocence,  and  ascribe 
the  incoherence  of  the  furniture  to  honorable  causes. 

''  My  dear,"  said  the  old  lady  to  the  young  one,  "  I  am 
cold  ;  make  a  little  fire,  and  give  me  my  shawl." 

Adelaide  went  into  a  room  next  the  drawing-room,  where 
she  no  doubt  slept,  and  returned  bringing  her  mother  a  cash- 
mere shawl,  which  when  new  must  have  been  very  costly; 
the  pattern  was  Indian  ;  but  it  was  old,  faded,  and  full  of 
darns,  and  matched  the  furniture.  Madame  Leseigneur 
wrapped  herself  in  it  very  artistically,  and  with  the  readiness 
of  an  old  woman  who  wishes  to  make  her  words  seem  truth. 
The  young  girl  ran  lightly  off"  to  the  lumber-room  and  reap- 
peared with  a  bundle  of  small  wood,  which  she  gallantly  threw 
on  the  fire  to  revive  it. 

It  would  be  rather  difficult  to  reproduce  the  conversation 
which  followed  among  these  three  persons.  Hippolyte,  guided 
by  the  tact  which  is  almost  always  the  outcome  of  misfortune 
suffered  in  early  youth,  dared  not  allow  himself  to  make  the 
least  remark  as  to  his  neighbors'  situation,  as  he  saw  all  about 
him  the  signs  of  ill-disguised  poverty.  The  simplest  question 
would  have  been  an  indiscretion,  and  could  only  be  ventured 
on  by  old  friendship.  The  painter  was  nevertheless  absorbed 
in  the  thought  of  this  concealed  penury,  it  pained  his  generous 
soul ;  but  knowing  how  offensive  every  kind  of  pity  may  be, 
24 


370  THE  PURSE. 

even  the  friendliest,  the  disparity  between  his  thoughts  and 
his  words  made  him  feel  uncomfortable. 

The  two  ladies  at  first  talked  of  painting,  for  women  easily 
guess  the  secret  embarrassment  of  a  first  call ;  they  themselves 
feel  it,  perhaps,  and  the  nature  of  their  minds  supplies  them 
with  a  thousand  devices  to  put  an  end  to  it.  By  questioning 
the  young  man  as  to  the  material  exercise  of  his  art,  and  as 
to  his  studies,  Adelaide  and  her  mother  emboldened  him  to 
talk.  The  indefinable  nothings  of  their  chat,  animated  by 
kindly  feeling,  naturally  led  Hippolyte  to  flash  forth  remarks 
or  reflections  which  showed  the  character  of  his  habits  and  of 
his  mind.  Trouble  had  prematurely  faded  the  old  lady's  face, 
formerly  handsome,  no  doubt ;  nothing  was  left  but  the  more 
prominent  features,  the  outline ;  in  a  word,  the  skeleton  of  a 
countenance  of  which  the  whole  effect  indicated  great  shrewd- 
ness with  much  grace  in  the  play  of  the  eyes,  in  which  could 
be  discerned  the  expression  peculiar  to  women  of  the  old 
Court ;  an  expression  that  cannot  be  defined  in  words.  Those 
fine  and  mobile  features  might  quite  as  well  indicate  bad  feel- 
ings, and  suggest  astuteness  and  womanly  artifice  carried  to  a 
high  pitch  of  wickedness,  as  reveal  the  refined  delicacy  of 
a  beautiful  soul. 

Indeed,  the  face  of  a  woman  has  this  element  of  mystery 
to  puzzle  the  ordinary  observer,  that  the  difference  between 
frankness  and  duplicity,  the  genius  for  intrigue  and  the  genius 
of  the  heart,  is  there  inscrutable.  A  man  gifted  with  a  pene- 
trating eye  can  read  the  intangible  shade  of  difference  pro- 
duced by  a  more  or  less  curved  line,  a  more  or  less  deep 
dimple,  a  more  or  less  prominent  feature.  The  appreciation 
of  these  indications  lies  entirely  in  the  domain  of  intuition ; 
this  alone  can  lead  to  the  discovery  of  what  every  one  is 
interested  in  concealing.  This  old  lady's  face  was  like  the 
room  she  inhabited  ;  it  seemed  as  difficult  to  detect  whether 
this  squalor  covered  vice  or  the  highest  virtue,  as  to  decide 
whether  Adelaide's  mother  was  an  old  coquette  accustomed 


THE  PURSE.  871 

to  weigh,  to  calculate,  to  sell  everything,  or  a  loving  woman, 
full  of  noble  feeling  and  amiable  qualities.  But  at  Schinner's 
age  the  first  impulse  of  the  heart  is  to  believe  in  goodness. 
And,  indeed,  as  he  studied  Adelaide's  noble  and  almost 
haughty  brow,  as  he  looked  into  her  eyes  full  of  soul  and 
thought,  he  breathed,  so  to  speak,  the  sweet  and  modest  fra- 
grance of  virtue.  In  the  course  of  the  conversation  he  seized 
an  opportunity  of  discussing  portraits  in  general,  to  give  him- 
self a  pretext  for  examining  the  frightful  pastel,  of  which  the 
color  had  flown,  and  the  chalk  in  many  places  fallen  away. 

"  You  are  attached  to  that  picture  for  the  sake  of  the  like- 
ness, no  doubt,  mesdames,  for  the  drawing  is  dreadful?"  he 
said,  looking  at  Adelaide. 

"It  was  done  at  Calcutta,  in  great  haste,"  replied  the 
mother,  in  an  agitated  voice. 

She  gazed  at  the  formless  sketch  with  the  deep  absorption 
which  memories  of  happiness  produce  when  they  are  roused 
and  fall  on  the  heart  like  a  beneficent  dew  to  whose  refreshing 
touch  we  love  to  yield  ourselves;  but  in  the  expression  of 
the  old  lady's  face  there  were  traces,  too,  of  perennial  regret. 
At  least,  it  was  thus  that  the  painter  chose  to  interpret  her 
attitude  and  countenance,  and  he  presently  sat  down  again  by 
her  side. 

"Madame,"  he  said,  "in  a  very  short  time  the  colors  of 
that  pastel  will  have  disappeared.  The  portrait  will  only  sur- 
vive in  your  memory.  Where  you  will  still  see  the  face  that 
is  dear  to  you,  others  will  see  nothing  at  all.  Will  you  allow 
me  to  reproduce  the  likeness  on  canvas  ?  It  will  be  more  per- 
manently recorded  then  than  on  that  sheet  of  paper.  Grant 
me,  I  beg,  as  a  neighborly  favor,  the  pleasure  of  doing  you 
this  service.  There  are  times  when  an  artist  is  glad  of  a 
respite  from  his  greater  undertakings  by  doing  work  of  less 
lofty  pretensions,  so  it  will  be  a  recreation  for  me  to  paint 
that  head." 

The  old  lady  flushed  as  she  heard  the  painter's  words,  and 


372  THE  PURSE. 

Adelaide  shot  one  of  those  glances  of  deep  feeling  which  seem 
to  flash  fronn  the  soul.  Hippolyte  wanted  to  feel  some  tie 
linking  him  with  his  two  neighbors,  to  conquer  a  right  to 
mingle  in  their  life.  His  offer,  appealing  as  it  did  to  the  live- 
liest affections  of  the  heart,  was  the  only  one  he  could  possibly 
make ;  it  gratified  his  pride  as  an  artist  and  could  not  hurt  the 
feelings  of  the  ladies.  Madame  Leseigneur  accepted,  without 
eagerness  or  reluctance,  but  with  the  self-possession  of  a  noble 
soul,  fully  aware  of  the  character  of  bonds  formed  by  such  an 
obligation,  while,  at  the  same  time,  they  are  its  highest  glory 
as  a  proof  of  esteem. 

"  I  fancy,"  said  the  painter,  "  that  the  uniform  is  that  of  a 
naval  officer  ? ' ' 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "that  of  a  captain  in  command  of  a 
vessel.  Monsieur  de  Rouville — my  husband — died  at  Batavia 
in  consequence  of  a  wound  received  in  a  fight  with  an  English 
ship  they  fell  in  with  off  the  Asiatic  coast.  He  commanded  a 
frigate  of  fifty-six  guns,  and  the  Revenge  carried  ninety-six. 
The  struggle  was  very  unequal,  but  he  defended  his  ship  so 
bravely  that  he  held  out  till  nightfall  and  got  away.  When  I 
came  back  to  France  Bonaparte  was  not  yet  in  power,  and  I 
was  refused  a  pension.  When  I  applied  again  for  it,  quite 
lately,  I  was  sternly  informed  that  if  the  Baron  de  Rouville 
had  emigrated  I  should  not  have  lost  him ;  that  by  this  time 
he  would  have  been  rear-admiral ;  finally,  his  excellency 
quoted  I  know  not  what  decree  of  forfeiture.  I  took  this  step, 
to  which  I  was  urged  by  my  friends,  only  for  the  sake  of  my 
poor  Adelaide.  I  have  always  hated  the  idea  of  holding  out 
my  hand  as  a  beggar  in  the  name  of  a  grief  which  deprives  a 
woman  of  voice  and  strength.  I  do  not  like  this  money  valu- 
ation for  blood  irreparably  spilt " 

"Dear  mother,  this  subject  always  does  you  harm,"  said 
her  daughter. 

In  response  to  this  remark  from  Adelaide,  the  Baronne 
Leseigneur  bowed,  and  was  silent. 


THE  PURSE.  373 

''Monsieur,"  said  the  young  girl  to  Hippolyte,  "1  had 
supposed  that  a  painter's  work  was  generally  fairly  quiet? " 

At  this  question  Schinner  colored,  remembering  the  noise 
he  had  made.  Adelaide  said  no  more,  and  spared  him  a 
falsehood  by  rising  at  the  sound  of  a  carriage  stopping  at  the 
door.  She  went  into  her  own  room,  and  returned  carrying  a 
pair  of  tall,  gilt  candlesticks  with  partly  burnt  wax-candles, 
which  she  quickly  lighted,  and,  without  waiting  for  the  bell  to 
ring,  she  opened  the  door  of  the  outer  room,  where  she  set 
the  lamp  down.  The  sound  of  a  kiss  given  and  received 
found  an  echo  in  Hippolyte's  heart.  The  young  man's  im- 
patience to  see  the  man  who  treated  Adelaide  with  so  much 
familiarity  was  not  immediately  gratified  ;  the  new-comers 
had  a  conversation,  which  he  thought  very  long,  in  an  under- 
tone, with  the  young  girl. 

At  last  Mademoiselle  de  Rouville  returned,  followed  by 
two  men,  whose  costume,  countenance,  and  appearance  are  a 
long  story. 

The  first,  a  man  of  about  sixty,  wore  one  of  the  coats  in- 
vented, I  believe,  for  Louis  XVIII.,  then  on  the  throne,  in 
which  the  most  difficult  problem  of  the  sartorial  art  had  been 
solved  by  a  tailor  who  ought  to  be  immortal.  That  artist 
certainly  understood  the  art  of  compromise,  which  was  the 
moving  genius  of  that  period  of  shifting  politics.  Is  it  not  a 
rare  merit  to  be  able  to  take  the  measure  of  the  time?  This 
coat,  which  the  young  men  of  the  present  day  may  conceive 
to  be  fabulous,  was  neither  civil  nor  military,  and  might  pass 
for  civil  or  military  by  turns.  Fleurs-de-lis  (lily  flowers)  were 
embroidered  on  the  lapels  of  the  back  skirts.  The  gilt  but- 
tons also  bore  fleurs-de-lis ;  on  the  shoulders  a  pair  of  straps 
cried  out  for  useless  epaulettes;  these  military  appendages 
were  there  like  a  petition  without  a  recommendation.  This 
old  gentleman's  coat  was  of  dark  blue  cloth,  and  the  button- 
hole had  blossomed  into  many  colored  ribbons.  He,  no 
doubt,  always  carried  his  hat  in  his  hand — a  three-cornered 


374  THE  PURSE. 

cocked  hat,  with  a  gold  cord — for  the  snowy  wings  of  his 
powdered  hair  showed  not  a  trace  of  its  pressure.  He  might 
have  been  taken  for  not  more  than  fifty  years  of  age,  and 
seemed  to  enjoy  robust  health.  While  wearing  the  frank  and 
loyal  expression  of  the  old  emigres,  his  countenance  also 
hinted  at  the  easy  habits  of  a  libertine,  at  the  light  and  reck- 
less passions  of  the  Musketeers  formerly  so  famous  in  the 
annals  of  gallantry.  His  gestures,  his  attitude,  and  his  manner 
proclaimed  that  he  had  no  intention  of  correcting  himself  of 
his  royalism,  of  his  religion,  or  of  his  love  affairs. 

A  really  fantastic  figure  came  in  behind  this  specimen  of 
"Louis  XIV. 's  light  infantry" — a  nickname  given  by  the 
Bonapartists  to  these  venerable  survivors  of  the  Monarchy. 
To  do  it  justice  it  ought  to  be  made  the  principal  object  iri 
the  picture,  and  it  is  but  an  accessory.  Imagine  a  lean,  dry 
man,  dressed  like  the  former,  but  seeming  to  be  only  his 
reflection,  or  his  shadow,  if  you  will.  The  coat,  new  on  the 
first,  on  the  second  was  old ;  the  powder  in  his  hair  looked 
less  white,  the  gold  of  \.\ie  fleurs-de-lis  less  bright,  the  shoulder- 
straps  more  hopeless  and  dog's-eared ;  his  intellect  seemed 
more  feeble,  his  life  nearer  the  fatal  term  than  in  the  former. 
In  short,  he  realized  Rivarol's  witticism  on  Champcenetz, 
"  He  is  the  moonlight  of  me."  He  was  simply  his  double,  a 
paler  and  poorer  double,  for  there  was  between  them  all  the 
difference  that  lies  between  the  first  and  last  impressions  of  a 
lithograph. 

This  speechless  old  man  was  a  mystery  to  the  painter,  and 
always  remained  a  mystery.  The  chevalier,  for  he  was  a 
chevalier,  did  not  speak,  nobody  spoke  to  him.  Was  he  a 
friend,  a  poor  relation,  a  man  who  followed  at  the  old  gallant's 
heels  as  a  lady  companion  does  at  an  old  lady's?  Did  he  fill 
a  place  midway  between  a  dog,  a  parrot,  and  a  friend  ?  Had 
he  saved  his  patron's  fortune,  or  only  his  life?  Was  he  the 
Trim  to  another  Captain  Toby  ?  Elsewhere,  as  at  the  Baronne 
de  Rouville's,  he  always  piqued  curiosity  without  satisfying  it. 


THE  PURSE.  Zlh 

Who,  after  the  Restoration,  could  remember  the  attachment 
which,  before  the  Revolution,  had  bound  this  man  to  his 
friend's  wife,  dead  now  these  twenty  years? 

The  leader,  who  appeared  the  least  dilapidated  of  these 
wrecks,  came  gallantly  up  to  Madame  de  Rouville,  kissed 
her  hand,  and  sat  down  by  her.  The  other  bowed  and 
placed  himself  not  far  from  his  model,  at  a  distance  rep- 
resented by  two  chairs.  Adelaide  came  behind  the  old 
gentleman's  armchair  and  leaned  her  elbows  on  the  back, 
unconsciously  imitating  the  attitude  given  to  Dido's  sister  by 
Guerin  in  his  famous  picture. 

Though  the  gentleman's  familiarity  was  that  of  a  father, 
his  freedom  seemed  at  the  moment  to  annoy  the  young  girl. 

"  What,  are  you  sulky  with  me?  "  he  said. 

Then  he  shot  at  Schinner  one  of  those  side-looks  full  of 
shrewdness  and  cunning,  diplomatic  looks,  whose  expression 
betrays  the  discreet  uneasiness,  the  polite  curiosity  of  well- 
bred  people,  and  seems  to  ask,  when  they  see  a  stranger,  "  Is 
he  one  of  us?  " 

"This  is  our  neighbor,"  said  the  old  lady,  pointing  to 
Hippolyte.  "Monsieur  is  a  celebrated  painter,  whose  name 
must  be  known  to  you  in  spite  of  your  indifference  to  the 
arts." 

The  old  man  saw  his  friend's  mischievous  intent  in  sup- 
pressing the  name,  and  bowed  to  the  young  man. 

"Certainly,"  said  he.  "I  heard  a  great  deal  about  his 
pictures  at  the  last  Salon.  Talent  has  immense  privileges," 
he  added,  observing  the  artist's  red  ribbon.  "That  distinc- 
tion, which  we  must  earn  at  the  cost  of  our  blood  and  long 
service,  you  win  in  your  youth  ;  but  all  glory  is  of  the  same 
kindred,"  he  said,  laying  his  hand  on  his  cross  of  Saint- 
Louis. 

Hippolyte  murmured  a  few  words  of  acknowledgment, 
and  was  silent  again,  satisfied  to  admire  with  growing 
enthusiasm  the  beautiful  girl's   head    that  charmed  him  so 


376  THE  PURSE. 

much.  He  was  soon  lost  in  contemplation,  completely 
forgetting  the  extreme  misery  of  the  dwelling.  To  him 
Adelaide's  face  stood  out  against  a  luminous  atmosphere. 
He  replied  briefly  to  the  questions  addressed  to  him, 
which,  by  very  good  luck,  he  heard,  thanks  to  a  singular 
faculty  of  the  soul  which  sometimes  seems  to  have  a 
double  consciousness.  Who  has  not  known  what  it  is  to  sit 
lost  in  sad  or  delicious  meditation,  listening  to  its  voice 
within,  while  attending  to  a  conversation  or  to  reading?  An 
admirable  duality  which  often  helps  us  to  tolerate  a  bore! 
Hope,  prolific  and  smiling,  poured  out  before  him  a  thousand 
visions  of  happiness ;  and  he  refused  to  consider  what  was 
going  on  around  him.  As  confiding  as  a  child,  it  seemed  to 
him  base  to  analyze  a  pleasure.  After  a  short  lapse  of  time 
he  perceived  that  the  old  lady  and  her  daughter  were  playing 
cards  with  the  old  gentleman.  As  to  the  satellite,  faithful  to 
his  function  as  a  shadow,  he  stood  behind  his  friend's  chair 
watching  his  game,  and  answering  the  player's  mute  inquiries 
by  little  approving  nods,  repeating  the  questioning  gestures 
of  the  other  countenance. 

"Du  Halga,  I  always  lose,"  said  the  gentleman. 

"You  discard  badly,"  replied  the  Baron ne  de  Rouville. 

"  For  three  months  now  I  have  never  won  a  single 
game,"  said  he. 

"  Have  you  the  aces?  "  asked  the  old  lady. 

"Yes,  one  more  to  mark,"  said  he. 

"  Shall  I  come  and  advise  you  ?  "  inquired  Adelaide  of  the 
irascible  player. 

"No,  no.  Stay  where  I  can  see  you.  By  Gad,  it  would 
be  losing  too  much  not  to  have  you  to  look  at !  " 

At  last  the  game  was  over.  The  gentleman  pulled  out  his 
purse,  and  throwing  two  louis  d'or  on  the  table,  not  without 
temper — 

"Forty  francs,"  he  exclaimed,  "the  exact  sum.  Deuce 
take  it !     It  is  eleven  o'clock." 


THE  PURSE.  377 

"It  is  eleven  o'clock,"  repeated  the  silent  figure,  looking 
at  the  painter. 

The  young  man,  hearing  these  words  rather  more  distinctly 
than  all  the  others,  thought  it  time  to  retire.  Coming  back 
to  the  world  of  ordinary  ideas,  he  found  a  few  commonplace 
remarks  to  make,  took  leave  of  the  Baroness,  her  daughter, 
and  the  two  strangers,  and  went  away,  wholly  possessed  by 
the  first  raptures  of  true  love,  without  attempting  to  analyze 
the  little  incidents  of  the  evening. 

On  the  morrow  the  young  painter  felt  the  most  ardent 
desire  to  see  Adelaide  once  more.  If  he  had  followed  the 
call  of  his  passion,  he  would  have  gone  to  his  neighbors' 
door  at  six  in  the  morning,  when  he  went  to  his  studio. 
However,  he  still  was  reasonable  enough  to  wait  till  the  after- 
noon. But  as  soon  as  he  thought  he  could  present  himself  to 
Madame  de  Rouville,  he  went  downstairs,  rang,  blushing  like 
a  girl,  shyly  asked  Mademoiselle  Leseigneur,  who  came  to  let 
him  in,  to  let  him  have  the  portrait  of  the  Baron. 

"But  come  in,"  said  Adelaide,  who  had  no  doubt  heard 
him  come  down  from  the  studio. 

The  painter  followed,  bashful  and  out  of  countenance,  not 
knowing  what  to  say,  happiness  had  so  dulled  his  wit.  To 
see  Adelaide,  to  hear  the  rustle  of  her  skirt,  after  longing  for 
a  whole  morning  to  be  near  her,  after  starting  up  a  hundred 
times — "  I  will  go  down  now" — and  not  to  have  gone;  this 
was  to  him  life  so  rich  that  such  sensations,  too  greatly  pro- 
longed, would  have  worn  out  his  spirit.  The  heart  has  the 
singular  power  of  giving  extraordinary  value  to  mere  noth- 
ings. What  joy  it  is  to  a  traveler  to  treasure  a  blade  of 
grass,  an  unfamiliar  leaf,  if  he  has  risked  his  life  to  pluck  it ! 
It  is  the  same  with  the  trifles  of  love. 

The  old  lady  was  not  in  the  drawing-room.  When  the 
young  girl  found  herself  there,  alone  with  the  painter,  she 
brought  a  chair  to  stand  on,  to  take  down  the  picture ;  but 
perceiving  that  she  could  not  unhook  it  without  setting  her 


378  THE  PURSE. 

foot  on  the  chest  of  drawers,  she  turned  to  Hippolyte,  and 
said  with  a  blush — 

**  I  am  not  tall  enough.     Will  you  get  it  down  ?  " 

A  feeling  of  modesty,  betrayed  in  the  expression  of  her  face 
and  the  tones  of  her  voice,  was  the  real  motive  of  her  re- 
quest ;  and  the  young  man,  understanding  this,  gave  her  one 
of  those  glances  of  intelligence  which  are  the  sweetest  lan- 
guage of  love.  Seeing  that  the  painter  had  read  her  soul, 
Adelaide  cast  down  her  eyes  with  the  instinct  of  reserve 
which  is  the  secret  of  a  maiden's  heart.  Hippolyte,  finding 
nothing  to  say,  and  feeling  almost  timid,  took  down  the  pic- 
ture, examined  it  gravely,  carrying  it  to  the  light  at  the  win- 
dow, and  then  went  away,  without  saying  a  word  to  Mademoi- 
selle Leseigneur  but,  "  I  will  return  it  soon." 

During  this  brief  moment  they  both  went  through  one  of 
those  storms  of  agitation  of  which  the  effects  in  the  soul  may 
be  compared  to  those  of  a  stone  flung  into  a  deep  lake.  The 
most  delightful  waves  of  thought  rise  and  follow  each  other, 
indescribable,  repeated,  and  aimless,  tossing  the  heart  like 
the  circular  ripples,  which  for  a  long  time  fret  the  waters, 
starting  from  the  point  where  the  stone  fell. 

Hippolyte  returned  to  the  studio  bearing  the  portrait.  His 
easel  was  ready  with  a  fresh  canvas,  and  his  palette  set,  his 
brushes  cleaned,  the  spot  and  the  light  carefully  chosen. 
And  till  the  dinner  hour  he  worked  at  the  painting  with  the 
ardor  artists  throw  into  their  whims.  He  went  again  that 
evening  to  the  Baronne  de  Rouville's,  and  remained  from 
nine  till  eleven.  Excepting  the  different  subjects  of  conver- 
sation, this  evening  was  exactly  like  the  last.  The  two  old 
men  arrived  at  the  same  hour,  the  same  game  of  piquet  was 
played,  the  same  speeches  made  by  the  players,  the  sum  lost 
by  Adelaide's  friend  was  not  less  considerable  than  on  the 
previous  evening;  only  Hippolyte,  a  little  bolder,  ventured 
to  chat  with  the  young  girl. 

A  week  passed  thus,  and  in  the  course  of  it  the  painter's 


THE  PURSE.  879 

feelings  and  Adelaide's  underwent  the  slow  and  delightful 
transformations  which  bring  two  souls  to  a  perfect  under- 
standing. Every  day  the  look  with  which  the  girl  welcomed 
her  friend  grew  more  intimate,  more  confiding,  gayer,  and 
more  open  ;  her  voice  and  manner  became  more  eager  and 
more  familiar.  They  laughed  and  talked  together,  telling 
each  other  their  thoughts,  speaking  of  themselves  with  the 
simplicity  of  two  children  who  have  made  friends  in  a  day,  as 
much  as  if  they  had  met  constantly  for  three  years.  Schinner 
wished  to  be  taught  piquet.  Being  ignorant  and  a  novice,  he, 
of  course,  made  blunder  after  blunder,  and,  like  the  old  man, 
he  lost  almost  every  game.  Without  having  spoken  a  word 
of  love  the  lovers  knew  that  they  were  all  in  all  to  one  an- 
other. Hippolyte  enjoyed  exerting  his  power  over  his  gentle 
little  friend,  and  many  concessions  were  made  to  him  by 
Adelaide,  who,  timid  and  devoted  to  him,  was  quite  deceived 
by  the  assumed  fits  of  temper,  such  as  the  least  skilled  lover 
and  the  most  guileless  girl  can  affect ;  and  which  they  con- 
stantly play  off",  as  spoiled  children  abuse  the  power  they  owe 
to  their  mother's  affection.  Thus  all  familiarity  between  the 
girl  and  the  old  Count  was  soon  put  a  stop  to.  She  under- 
stood the  painter's  melancholy,  and  the  thoughts  hidden  in 
the  furrows  on  his  brow,  from  the  abrupt  tone  of  the  few 
words  he  spoke  when  the  old  man  unceremoniously  kissed 
Adelaide's  hands  or  throat. 

Mademoiselle  Leseigneur,  on  her  part,  soon  expected  her 
lover  to  give  her  a  short  account  of  all  his  actions ;  she  was 
so  unhappy,  so  restless  when  Hippolyte  did  not  come;  she 
scolded  him  so  eff"ectually  for  his  absence  that  the  painter 
had  to  give  up  seeing  his  other  friends  and  now  went  no- 
where. Adelaide  allowed  the  natural  jealousy  of  women  to 
be  perceived  when  she  heard  that  sometimes  at  eleven  o'clock, 
on  quitting  the  house,  the  painter  still  had  visits  to  pay,  and 
was  to  be  seen  in  the  most  brilliant  drawing-rooms  of  Paris. 
This  mode  of  life,  she  assured  him,  was  bad  for  his  health ; 


380  THE  PURSE. 

then,  with  the  intense  conviction  to  which  the  accent,  the 
emphasis,  and  the  look  of  one  we  love  lend  so  much  weight, 
she  asserted  that  a  man  who  was  obliged  to  expend  his  time 
and  the  charms  of  his  wit  on  several  women  at  once  could 
not  be  the  object  of  any  very  warm  affection.  Thus  the 
painter  was  led,  as  much  by  the  tyranny  of  his  passion  as 
by  the  exactions  of  a  girl  in  love,  to  live  exclusively  in  the 
little  apartment  where  everything  attracted  him. 

And  never  was  there  a  purer  or  more  ardent  love.  On 
both  sides  the  same  trustfulness,  the  same  delicacy,  gave  their 
passion  increase  without  the  aid  of  those  sacrifices  by  which 
many  persons  try  to  prove  their  affection.  Between  these  two 
there  was  such  a  constant  interchange  of  sweet  emotion  that 
they  knew  not  which  gave  or  received  the  most. 

A  spontaneous  affinity  made  the  union  of  their  souls  a  close 
one.  The  progress  of  this  true  feeling  was  so  rapid  that  two 
months  after  the  accident  to  which  the  painter  owed  the  hap- 
piness of  knowing  Adelaide,  their  lives  were  one  life.  From 
early  morning  the  young  girl,  hearing  footsteps  overhead, 
could  say  to  herself,  "  He  is  there."  When  Hippolyte  went 
home  to  his  mother  at  the  dinner  hour  he  never  failed  to  look 
in  on  his  neighbors,  and  in  the  evening  he  flew  there  at  the 
accustomed  hour  with  a  lover's  punctuality.  Thus  the  most 
tyrannical  woman  or  the  most  ambitious  in  the  matter  of  love 
could  not  have  found  the  smallest  fault  with  the  young  painter. 
And  Adelaide  tasted  of  unmixed  and  unbounded  happiness  as 
she  saw  the  fullest  realization  of  the  ideal  of  which,  at  her 
age,  it  is  so  natural  to  dream. 

The  old  gentleman  now  came  more  rarely ;  Hippolyte,  who 
had  been  jealous,  had  taken  his  place  at  the  green  table,  and 
shared  his  constant  ill-luck  at  cards.  And  sometimes,  in  the 
midst  of  his  happiness,  as  he  considered  Madame  de  Rouville's 
disastrous  position — for  he  had  had  more  than  one  proof  of 
her  extreme  poverty — an  importunate  thought  would  haunt 
him.     Several  times  he  had  said  to  himself  as  he  went  home, 


THE  PURSE.  381 

"  Strange !  twenty  francs  every  evening?  "  and  he  dared  not 
confess  to  himsef  his  odious  suspicions. 

He  spent  two  months  over  the  portrait,  and  when  it  was 
finished,  varnished,  and  framed,  he  looked  upon  it  as  one  of 
his  best  works.  Madame  la  Baronne  de  Rouville  had  never 
spoken  of  it  again.  Was  this  from  indifference  or  pride  ?  The 
painter  would  not  allow  himself  to  account  for  this  silence. 
He  joyfully  plotted  with  Adelaide  to  hang  the  picture  in  its 
place  when  Madame  de  Rouville  should  be  out.  So  one  day, 
during  the  walk  her  mother  usually  took  in  the  Tuileries, 
Adelaide  for  the  first  time  went  up  to  Hippolyte's  studio,  on 
the  pretext  of  seeing  the  portrait  in  the  good  light  in  which  it 
had  been  painted.  She  stood  speechless  and  motionless,  but 
in  ecstatic  contemplation,  in  which  all  a  woman's  feelings 
were  merged.  For  are  they  not  all  comprehended  in  bound- 
less admiration  for  the  man  she  loves  ?  When  the  painter, 
uneasy  at  her  silence,  leaned  forward  to  look  at  her,  she  held 
out  her  hand,  unable  to  speak  a  word,  but  two  tears  fell  from 
her  eyes.  Hippolyte  took  her  hand  and  covered  it  with 
kisses;  for  a  minute  they  looked  at  each  other  in  silence,  both 
longing  to  confess  their  love,  and  not  daring.  The  painter 
kept  her  hand  in  his,  and  the  same  glow,  the  same  throb,  told 
them  that  their  hearts  were  both  beating  wildly.  The  young 
girl,  too  greatly  agitated,  gently  drew  away  from  Hippolyte, 
and  said,  with  a  look  of  the  utmost  simplicity — 

"You  will  make  my  mother  very  happy." 

•'  What !  only  your  mother?"  he  asked. 

"  Oh,  I  am  too  happy." 

The  painter  bent  his  head  and  remained  silent,  frightened 
at  the  vehemence  of  the  feelings  which  her  tones  stirred  in  his 
heart.  Then,  both  understanding  the  perils  of  the  situation, 
they  went  downstairs  and  hung  up  the  picture  in  its  place. 
Hippolyte  dined  for  the  first  time  with  the  Baroness,  who, 
greatly  overcome  and  drowned  in  tears,  must  needs  embrace 
him. 


382  THE  PURSE. 

In  the  evening  the  old  6migr6,  the  Baron  de  Rouville's  old 

comrade,  paid  the  ladies  a  visit  to  announce  that  he  had  just 
been  promoted  to  the  rank  of  vice-admiral.  His  voyages  by 
land  over  Germany  and  Russia  had  been  counted  as  naval 
campaigns.  On  seeing  the  portrait  he  cordially  shook  the 
painter's  hand,  and  exclaimed,  *'  By  Gad !  though  my  old 
hulk  does  not  deserve  to  be  perpetuated,  I  would  gladly  give 
five  hundred  pistoles  to  see  myself  as  like  as  that  is  to  my  dear 
old  RouviUe." 

At  this  hint  the  Baroness  looked  at  her  young  friend  and 
smiled,  while  her  face  lighted  up  with  an  expression  of  sudden 
gratitude.  Hippolyte  suspected  that  the  old  admiral  wished 
to  offer  him  the  price  of  both  portraits  while  paying  for  his 
own.  His  pride  as  an  artist,  no  less  than  his  jealousy  perhaps, 
took  offense  at  the  thought,  and  he  replied — 

"  Monsieur,  if  I  were  a  portrait  painter,  I  should  not  have 
done  this  one." 

The  admiral  bit  his  lip  and  sat  down  to  cards. 

The  painter  remained  near  Adelaide,  who  proposed  a  dozen 
hands  of  piquet,  to  which  he  agreed.  As  he  played  he  ob- 
served in  Madame  de  Rouville  an  excitement  over  the  game 
which  surprised  him.  Never  before  had  the  old  Baroness 
manifested  so  ardent  a  desire  to  win  or  so  keen  a  joy  in  fin- 
gering the  old  gentleman's  gold-pieces.  During  the  evening 
evil  suspicions  troubled  Hippolyte's  happiness  and  filled  him 
with  distrust.  Could  it  be  that  Madame  de  Rouville  lived  by 
gambling  ?  Was  she  playing  at  this  moment  to  pay  off  some 
debt  or  under  the  pressure  of  necessity  ?  Perhaps  she  had 
not  paid  her  rent.  That  old  man  seemed  shrewd  enough  not 
to  allow  his  money  to  be  taken  with  impunity.  What  interest 
attracted  him  to  this  poverty-stricken  house,  he  who  was  rich? 
Why,  when  he  had  formerly  been  so  familiar  with  Adelaide, 
had  he  given  up  the  rights  he  had  acquired  and  which  were 
perhaps  his  due  ? 

These  involuntary  reflections  prompted  him  to  watch  the 


THE  PURSE.  888 

old  man  and  the  Baroness,  whose  meaning  looks  and  certain 
sidelong  glances  cast  at  Adelaide  displeased  him.  "Am  I 
being  duped?  "  was  Hippolyte's  last  idea — horrible,  scathing, 
for  he  believed  it  just  enough  to  be  tortured  by  it.  He  de- 
termined to  stay  after  the  departure  of  the  two  old  men,  to 
confirm  or  to  dissipate  his  suspicions.  He  drew  out  his  purse 
to  pay  Adelaide ;  but,  carried  away  by  his  poignant  thoughts, 
he  laid  it  on  the  table,  falling  into  a  reverie  of  brief  duration ; 
then,  ashamed  of  his  silence,  he  arose,  answered  some  com- 
monplace question  from  Madame  de  Rouville,  and  went  close 
up  to  her  to  examine  the  withered  features  while  he  was  talk- 
ing to  her. 

He  went  away,  racked  by  a  thousand  doubts.  He  had 
gone  down  but  a  few  steps  when  he  turned  back  to  fetch  the 
forgotten  purse. 

"  I  left  my  purse  here  !  "  he  said  tq  the  young  girl. 

"  No,"  she  said,  reddening. 

"  I  thought  it  was  there,"  and  he  pointed  to  the  card-table. 
Not  finding  it,  in  his  shame  for  Adelaide  and  the  Baroness, 
he  looked  at  them  with  a  blank  amazement  that  made  them 
laugh,  turned  pale,  felt  his  waistcoat,  and  said,  "  I  must  have 
made  a  mistake.     I  have  it  somewhere,  no  doubt." 

In  one  end  of  the  purse  there  were  fifteen  louis  d'or,  and 
in  the  other  some  small  change.  The  theft  was  so  flagrant, 
and  denied  with  such  effrontery,  that  Hippolyte  no  longer 
felt  a  doubt  as  to  his  neighbors'  morals.  He  stood  still  on 
the  stairs  and  got  down  with  some  difficulty ;  his  knees  shook, 
he  felt  dizzy,  he  was  in  a  cold  sweat,  he  shivered,  and  found 
himself  unable  to  walk,  struggling,  as  he  was,  with  the  ago- 
nizing shock  caused  by  the  destruction  of  all  his  hopes.  And 
at  this  moment  he  found  lurking  in  his  memory  a  number  of 
observations,  trifling  in  themselves,  but  which  corroborated 
his  frightful  suspicions,  and  which,  by  proving  the  certainty 
of  this  last  incident,  opened  his  eyes  as  to  the  character  and 
life  of  these  two  women. 


384  THE  PURSE, 

Had  they  really  waited  until  the  portrait  was  given  them 
before  robbing  him  of  his  purse  ?  In  such  a  combination  the 
theft  was  even  more  odious.  The  painter  recollected  that  for 
the  last  two  or  three  evenings  Adelaide,  while  seeming  to 
examine  with  a  girl's  curiosity  the  particular  stitch  of  the 
worn  silk  netting,  was  probably  counting  the  coins  in  the 
purse,  while  making  some  light  jests,  quite  innocent  in  ap- 
pearance, but  no  doubt  with  the  object  of  watching  for  a 
moment  when  the  sum  was  worth  stealing. 

"  The  old  admiral  has  perhaps  good  reasons  for  not  marry- 
ing Adelaide,  and  so  the  Baroness  has  tried " 

But  at  this  hypothesis  he  checked  himself,  not  finishing  his 
thought,  which  was  contradicted  by  a  very  just  reflection, 
"  If  the  Baroness  hopes  to  get  me  to  marry  her  daughter," 
thought  he,  "they  would  not  have  robbed  me." 

Then,  clinging  to  his  illusion,  to  the  love  that  already  had 
taken  such  deep  root,  he  tried  to  find  a  justification  in  some 
accident.  "The  purse  must  have  fallen  on  the  floor,"  said 
he  to  himself,  **  or  I  left  it  lying  on  my  chair.  Or  perhaps  I 
have  it  about  me — lam  so  absent-minded!"  He  searched 
himself  with  hurried  movements,  but  did  not  find  the  ill- 
starred  purse.  His  memory  cruelly  retraced  the  fatal  truth, 
minute  by  minute.  He  distinctly  saw  the  purse  lying  on  the 
green  cloth ;  but  then,  doubtful  no  longer,  he  excused  Ade- 
laide, telling  himself  that  persons  in  misfortune  should  not  be 
so  hastily  condemned.  There  was,  of  course,  some  secret 
behind  this  apparently  degrading  action.  He  would  not 
admit  that  that  proud  and  noble  face  was  a  lie. 

At  the  same  time  the  wretched  rooms  rose  before  him, 
denuded  of  the  poetry  of  lOve  which  beautifies  everything ; 
he  saw  them  dirty  and  faded,  regarding  them  as  emblematic 
of  an  inner  life  devoid  of  honor,  idle  and  vicious.  Are  not 
our  feelings  written,  as  it  were,  on  things  about  us? 

Next  morning  he  arose,  not  having  slept.  The  heartache, 
that  terrible  malady  of  the  soul,  had  made  rapid   inroads. 


THE  PURSE.  385 

To  lose  the  bliss  we  dreamed  of,  to  renounce  our  whole  future, 
is  a  keener  pang  than  that  caused  by  the  loss  of  known 
happiness,  however  complete  it  may  have  been ;  for  is  not 
Hope  better  than  Memory?  The  thoughts  into  which  our 
spirit  is  suddenly  plunged  are  like  a  shoreless  sea  in  which 
we  may  swim  for  a  moment,  but  where  our  love  is  doomed  to 
drown  and  die.  And  it  is  a  frightful  death.  Are  not  our 
feelings  the  most  glorious  part  of  our  life  ?  It  is  this  partial 
death  which,  in  certain  delicate  or  powerful  natures,  leads  to  the 
terrible  ruin  produced  by  disenchantment,  by  hopes  and  pas- 
sions betrayed.  Thus  it  was  with  the  young  painter.  He  went 
out  at  a  very  early  hour  to  walk  under  the  fresh  shade  of  the 
Tuileries,  absorbed  in  hb  thoughts,  forgetting  everything  in 
the  world. 

There  by  chance  he  met  one  of  his  most  intimate  friends, 
a  schoolfellow  and  studio-mate,  with  whom  he  had  lived  on 
better  terms  than  with  a  brother. 

*'Why,  Hippolyte,  what  ails  you?"  asked  Francois 
Souchet,  the  young  sculptor  who  had  just  won  the  first  prize 
and  was  soon  to  set  out  for  Italy. 

"I  am  most  unhappy,"  replied  Hippolyte  gravely. 

"  Nothing  but  a  love  affair  can  cause  you  grief.  Money, 
glory,  respect — you  lack  nothing." 

Insensibly  the  painter  was  led  into  confidences,  and  con- 
fessed his  love.  The  moment  he  mentioned  the  Rue  de 
Suresne,  and  a  young  girl  living  on  the  fourth  floor,  "  Stop, 
stop,"  cried  Souchet  lightly.  "A  little  girl  I  see  every 
morning  at  the  church  of  the  Assumption,  and  with  whom  I 
have  a  flirtation.  But,  my  dear  fellow,  we  all  know  her. 
The  mother  is  a  Baroness.  Do  you  really  believe  in  a 
Baroness  living  up  four  flights  of  stairs  ?  Brrr !  Why,  you 
are  a  relic  of  the  golden  age  !  We  see  the  old  mother  here, 
in  this  avenue,  every  day ;  why,  her  face,  her  appearance,  tell 
everything.  What,  have  you  not  known  her  for  what  she  is 
by  the  way  she  holds  her  bag?  " 
25 


386  THE  PURSE. 

The  two  friends  walked  up  and  down  for  some  time,  and 
several  young  men  who  knew  Souchet  or  Schinner  joined 
them.  The  painter's  adventure,  which  the  sculptor  regarded 
as  unimportant,  was  repeated  by  him. 

"So  he,  too,  has  seen  that  young  lady  !  "  said  Souchet. 

And  then  there  were  comments,  laughter,  innocent  mockery, 
full  of  the  liveliness  familiar  to  artists,  but  which  pained 
Hippolyte  frightfully.  A  certain  native  reticence  made  him 
uncomfortable  as  he  saw  his  heart's  secret  so  carelessly  handled, 
his  passion  rent,  torn  to  tatters,  a  young  and  unknown  girl, 
whose  life  seemed  to  be  so  modest,  the  victim  of  condem- 
nation, right  or  wrong,  but  pronounced  with  such  reckless 
indifference.  He  pretended  to  be  moved  by  a  spirit  of  con- 
tradiction, asking  each  for  proofs  of  his  assertions,  and  their 
jests  began  again. 

"But,  my  dear  boy,  have  you  seen  the  Baroness*  shawl?" 
asked  Souchet. 

"  Have  you  ever  followed  the  girl  when  she  patters  off  to 
church  in  the  morning?"  said  Joseph  Bridau,  a  young 
dauber  in  Gros'  studio. 

"Oh,  the  mother  has  among  other  virtues  a  certain  gray 
gown,  which  I  regard  as  typical,"  said  Bixiou,  the  caricaturist. 

"Listen,  Hippolyte,"  the  sculptor  went  on.  "Come  here 
at  about  four  o'clock  and  just  study  the  walk  of  both  mother 
and  daughter.  If  after  that  you  still  have  doubts !  well,  no 
one  can  ever  make  anything  of  you ;  you  would  be  capable 
of  marrying  your  porter's  daughter." 

Torn  by  the  most  conflicting  feelings,  the  painter  parted 
from  his  friends.  It  seemed  to  him  that  Adelaide  and  her 
mother  must  be  superior  to  these  accusations,  and  at  the  bottom 
of  his  heart  he  was  filled  with  remorse  for  having  suspected  the 
purity  of  this  beautiful  and  simple  girl.  He  went  to  his  studio, 
passing  the  door  of  the  rooms  where  Adelaide  was,  and  con- 
scious of  a  pain  at  his  heart  which  no  man  can  misapprehend. 
He  loved  Mademoiselle  deRouville  so  passionately  that,  in  spite 


THE  PURSE.  887 

of  the  theft  of  the  purse,  he  still  worshiped  her.  His  love  was 
that  of  the  Chevalier  des  Grieux  admiring  his  mistress,  and 
holding  her  as  pure,  even  on  the  cart  which  carries  such  lost 
creatures  to  prison.  *•  Why  should  my  love  not  keep  her  the 
purest  of  women  ?  Why  abandon  her  to  evil  and  to  vice  with- 
out holding  out  a  rescuing  hand  to  her?  " 

The  idea  of  this  mission  pleased  him.  Love  makes  a  gain 
of  everything.  Nothing  tempts  a  young  man  more  than  to 
play  the  part  of  a  good  genius  to  a  woman.  There  is  some- 
thing inexplicably  romantic  in  such  an  enterprise  which  ap- 
peals to  a  highly  strung  soul.  Is  it  not  the  utmost  stretch  of 
devotion  under  the  loftiest  and  most  engaging  aspect?  Is 
there  not  something  grand  in  the  thought  that  we  love 
enough  still  to  love  on  when  the  love  of  others  dwindles  and 
dies? 

Hippolyte  sat  down  in  his  studio,  gazed  at  his  picture  with- 
out doing  anything  to  it,  seeing  the  figures  through  tears  that 
swelled  in  his  eyes,  holding  his  brush  in  his  hand,  going  up  to 
the  canvas  as  if  to  soften  down  an  effect,  but  not  touching  it. 
Night  fell,  and  he  was  still  in  this  attitude.  Roused  from  his 
moodiness  by  the  darkness,  he  went  downstairs,  met  the  old 
admiral  on  the  way,  looked  darkly  at  him  as  he  bowed,  and 
fled. 

He  had  intended  going  in  to  see  the  ladies,  but  the  sight 
of  Adelaide's  protector  froze  his  heart  and  dispelled  his  pur- 
pose. For  the  hundredth  time  he  wondered  what  interest 
could  bring  this  old  prodigal,  with  his  eighty  thousand  francs 
a  year,  to  this  fourth  story,  where  he  lost  about  forty  francs 
every  evening ;   and  he  thought  he  could  guess  what  it  was. 

The  next  and  following  days  Hippolyte  threw  himself  into 
his  work,  to  try  to  conquer  his  passion  by  the  swift  rush  of 
ideas  and  the  ardor  of  composition.  He  half  succeeded. 
Study  consoled  him,  though  it  could  not  smother  the  memo- 
ries of  so  many  tender  hours  spent  with  Adelaide. 

One  evening,  as  he  left  his  studio,  he  saw  the  door  of  the 


388  THE  PURSE. 

ladies'  rooms  half  open.  Somebody  was  standing  in  the  recess 
of  the  window,  and  the  position  of  the  door  and  the  staircase 
made  it  impossible  that  the  painter  should  pass  without  seeing 
Adelaide.  He  bowed  coldly,  with  a  glance  of  supreme  indif- 
ference ;  but,  judging  of  the  girl's  suffering  by  his  own,  he  felt 
an  inward  shudder  as  he  reflected  on  the  bitterness  which  that 
look  and  that  coldness  must  produce  in  a  loving  heart.  To 
crown  the  most  delightful  feast  which  ever  brought  joy  to  two 
pure  souls,  by  eight  days  of  disdain,  of  the  deepest  and  most 
utter  contempt !  A  frightful  conclusion  !  And  perhaps  the 
purse  had  been  found,  perhaps  Adelaide  had  looked  for  her 
friend  every  evening. 

This  simple  and  natural  idea  filled  the  lover  with  fresh  re- 
morse; he  asked  himself  whether  the  proofs  of  attachment 
given  him  by  the  young  girl,  the  delightful  talks,  full  of  the 
love  that  had  so  charmed  him,  did  not  deserve  at  least  an 
inquiry ;  were  not  worthy  of  some  justification.  Ashamed  of 
having  resisted  the  promptings  of  his  heart  for  a  whole  week, 
and  feeling  himself  almost  a  criminal  in  this  mental  struggle, 
he  called  the  same  evening  on  Madame  de  Rouville. 

All  his  suspicions,  all  his  evil  thoughts  vanished  at  the  sight 
of  the  young  girl,  who  had  grown  pale  and  thin. 

"  Good  heavens  !  what  is  the  matter  ?  "  he  asked  her,  after 
greeting  the  Baroness. 

Adelaide  made  no  reply,  but  she  gave  him  a  look  of  deep 
melancholy,  a  sad,  dejected  look,  which  pained  and  humili- 
ated him. 

"You  have,  no  doubt,  been  working  hard,"  said  the  old 
lady.  "You  are  altered.  We  are  the  cause  of  your  seclu- 
sion. That  portrait  had  delayed  some  pictures  essential  to 
your  reputation." 

Hippolyte  was  glad  to  find  so  good  an  excuse  for  his  rude- 
ness. 

''  "Yes,"  he  said,  "I  have  been  very  busy,  but  I  have  been 
suffering " 


THE  PURSE.  389 

At  these  words  Adelaide  raised  her  head,  looked  at  her 
lover,  and  her  anxious  eyes  had  now  no  hint  of  reproach. 

"  You  must  have  thought  us  quite  indifferent  to  any  good 
or  ill  that  may  befall  you  ?  "  said  the  old  lady. 

"I  was  wrong,"  he  replied.  "Still,  there  are  forms  of 
pain  which  we  know  not  how  to  confide  to  any  one,  even  to  a 
friendship  of  older  date  than  that  with  which  you  honor  me." 

"  The  sincerity  and  strength  of  friendship  are  not  to  be 
measured  by  time.  I  have  seen  old  friends  who  had  not  a 
tear  to  bestow  on  misfortune,"  said  the  Baroness,  nodding 
sadly. 

**  But  you — what  ails  you  ?  "  the  young  man  asked  Adelaide. 

"  Oh,  nothing,"  replied  the  Baroness;  "Adelaide  has  sat 
up  late  for  some  nights  to  finish  some  little  piece  of  woman's 
work,  and  would  not  listen  to  me  when  I  told  her  that  a  day 
more  or  less  did  not  matter " 

Hippolyte  was  not  listening.  As  he  looked  at  these  two 
noble,  calm  faces,  he  blushed  for  his  suspicions  and  ascribed 
the  loss  of  his  purse  to  some  unknown  accident. 

This  was  a  delicious  evening  to  him,  and  perhaps  to  her 
too.  There  are  some  secrets  which  young  souls  understand 
so  well.  Adelaide  could  read  Hippolyte's  thoughts.  Though 
he  could  not  confess  his  misdeeds,  the  painter  knew  them, 
and  he  had  come  back  to  his  mistress  more  in  love  and  more 
affectionate,  trying  thus  to  purchase  her  tacit  forgiveness. 
Adelaide  was  enjoying  such  perfect,  such  sweet  happiness, 
that  she  did  not  think  she  had  paid  too  dear  for  it  with  all  the 
grief  that  had  so  cruelly  crushed  her  soul.  And  yet,  this  true 
concord  of  hearts,  this  understanding  so  full  of  magic  charm, 
was  disturbed  by  a  little  speech  of  Madame  de  Rouville's. 

"Let  us  have  our  little  game,"  she  said,  "for  my  old 
friend  Kergarouet  will  not  let  me  off." 

These  words  revived  all  the  young  painter's  fears ;  he  col- 
ored as  he  looked  at  Adelaide's  mother,  but  he  saw  nothing 
in  her  countenance  but  the  expression  of  the  frankest  good- 


390  THE  PURSE. 

nature ;  no  double  meaning  marred  its  charm ;  its  keenness 
was  not  perfidious,  its  humor  seemed  kindly,  and  no  trace  of 
remorse  disturbed  its  equanimity. 

He  sat  down  to  the  card-table.  Adelaide  took  side  with 
the  painter,  saying  that  he  did  not  know  piquet,  and  needed 
a  partner. 

All  through  the  game  Madame  de  Rouville  and  her  daugh- 
ter exchanged  looks  of  intelligence,  which  alarmed  Hippolyte 
all  the  more  because  he  was  winning ;  but  at  last  a  final  hand 
left  the  lovers  in  the  old  lady's  debt. 

To  feel  for  some  money  in  his  pocket  the  painter  took  his 
hands  off  the  table,  and  he  then  saw  before  him  a  purse 
which  Adelaide  had  slipped  in  front  of  him  without  his 
noticing  it ;  the  poor  child  had  the  old  one  in  her  hand,  and, 
to  keep  her  countenance,  was  looking  into  it  for  the  money 
to  pay  her  mother.  The  blood  rushed  to  Hippolyte's  heart 
with  such  force  that  he  was  near  fainting. 

The  new  purse,  substituted  for  his  own,  and  which  con- 
tained his  fifteen  gold  louis,  was  worked  with  gilt  beads. 
The  rings  and  tassels  bore  witness  to  Adelaide's  good  taste, 
and  she  had  no  doubt  spent  all  her  little  hoard  in  ornament- 
ing this  pretty  piece  of  work.  It  was  impossible  to  say  with 
greater  delicacy  that  the  painter's  gift  could  only  be  repaid 
by  some  proof  of  affection.  Hippolyte,  overcome  with  hap- 
piness, turned  to  look  at  Adelaide  and  her  mother,  and  saw 
that  they  were  tremulous  with  pleasure  and  delight  at  their 
little  trick.  He  felt  himself  mean,  sordid,  a  fool ;  he  longed 
to  punish  himself,  to  rend  his  heart.  A  few  tears  rose  to  his 
eyes,  by  an  irresistible  impulse  he  sprang  up,  clasped  Adelaide 
in  his  arms,  pressed  her  to  his  heart,  and  stole  a  kiss ;  then 
with  the  simple  heartiness  of  an  artist:  "I  ask  her  for  my 
wife  !  "  he  exclaimed,  looking  at  the  Baroness. 

Adelaide  looked  at  him  with  half- wrathful  eyes,  and  Mad- 
ame de  Rouville,  somewhat  astonished,  was  considering  her 
reply,  when  the  scene  was  interrupted  by  a  ring  at  the  bell. 


THE  PURSE.  891 

The  old  vice-admiral  came  in,  followed  by  his  shadow  and 
Madame  Schinner.  Having  guessed  the  cause  of  the  grief 
her  son  vainly  endeavored  to  conceal,  Hippolyte's  mother 
had  made  inquiries  among  her  friends  concerning  Adelaide. 
Very  justly  alarmed  by  the  calumnies  which  weighed  on  the 
young  girl,  unknown  to  the  Comte  de  Kergarouet,  whose 
name  she  learned  from  the  porter's  wife,  she  went  to  report 
them  to  the  vice-admiral;  and  he,  in  his  rage,  declared  "he 
would  crop  all  the  scoundrels'  ears  for  them." 

Then,  prompted  by  his  wrath,  he  went  on  to  explain  to 
Madame  Schinner  the  secret  of  his  losing  intentionally  at 
cards,  because  the  Baronne's  pride  left  him  none  but  these 
ingenious  means  of  assisting  her. 

When  Madame  Schinner  had  paid  her  respects  to  Madame 
de  Rouville,  the  Baroness  looked  at  the  Comte  de  Kergarouet, 
at  the  Chevalier  du  Halga — the  friend  of  the  departed  Com- 
tesse  de  Kergarouet — at  Hippolyte  and  Adelaide,  and  then 
said,  with  the  grace  that  comes  from  the  heart,  **  So  we  are  a 
family  party  this  evening." 

Paris,  May^  1832. 


ill 

A    00( 


000  525  458 


I 


J 


